


The Pull of You

by touchmytardis



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Angst, Crushed/Comfort, Dream Magic, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry for hurting cinnamon boy, Johns being cute, Jonathan being nosy, M/M, Mild Gore, Much magic, Pining, Possession, Post-Canon, Sad, Starecrossed Lovers, Violence, almost? dubcon?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 24,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22427659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchmytardis/pseuds/touchmytardis
Summary: It all starts when Jonathan Strange invites himself into one of John Childermass very private dreams.what follows is a rough year.so much pining.so much hurt.so little comfort.
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 61
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

John Childermass is sound asleep in his bed. The bed is the largest one he has had the pleasure to call his own, in a modest room in Starecross Hall, his home for the past half-year. Home might be an odd term to use here, as Childermass spends as much time away from Starecross as he is there. But it is where he keeps most of his belongings, and where he has a large bed that only he ever sleeps in. He had been given the choice of a larger room, closer to the other bedrooms and closer to the parlour, or this smaller room which was more secluded and which offered a greater view of the moors. He would always choose windows over space.

Childermass is sleeping on his stomach. His limbs seem to be pointing in all different directions and his blanket is barely covering half his thighs and half his back. His left arm is sprawled across the bed, while the right arm is resting under his pillow. His head is turned to the side and his hair is covering some of his face. His mouth is slightly open, and his breaths are interrupted by small noises, similar to that a sleeping cat might make when having dreams of wild birds.

Childermass is dreaming, but not of birds. He was no older than thirteen when he first started practising the art of dreaming lucidly, and was now quite proficient in both being able to become fully conscious in his dreams, but also in choosing the content of these dreams. However, as he has still been looking for messages and symbols relating to the Raven King and his Book everywhere, he very rarely lets himself indulge in dreams not pertaining to these subjects. Tonight, however, he thinks he has deserved to have some fun.

Tonight is also the night when another magician, Jonathan Strange has found himself exceedingly curious as to what exactly John Childermass' plans might be. It has been obvious for quite some time now, that even though most patrons of Starecross have gotten used to the man in question, he still harbours many secrets. They have spent quite a lot of time together these last few months, but Mr Strange feels as though he still is not any closer to understanding Childermass fully. And since most all of England's magicians have at some point been wronged by Childermass, it is perfectly understandable that some suspicions of his motives may still linger.

But tonight, Jonathan Strange is going to try his dream walking spell. It is not the first time he is going to perform it, Mr Segundus had kindly let him use him as a test subject for the two previous nights, but it is the first time he attempts using it on an unknowing subject. He doubts that Childermass would consent, that is why, on this night, Jonathan has decided to sneak into Childermass’ room and enter his dream.

Now, there are quite a lot of things that could go wrong with this plan. Jonathan does not have the same ability to disappear as Childermass, making the likelihood of him being discovered greater. Moreover, Childermass has proven himself to be quite adept at sensing magic, and magic performed in such close proximity can be difficult to hide even from someone not magically inclined at all.

He has taken the precautions he can. He is wearing his softest slippers, the spell is very quiet, and he made sure Childermass imbibed in quite a lot of alcohol after dinner, hoping that it would make him sleep deeply. He had, of course, used the scrying bowl to make sure he already was asleep. All in all, it is still an absolutely ridiculous plan, but, as most people know, Jonathan Strange seems to have a certain affinity for ridiculous types of magic. The fact that he has enjoyed at least as much brandy as Childermass gives him the courage to go through with the plan.

Jonathan enters the room and sees that Childermass is in fact still sleeping. Heavily. He makes his way to the bed and slowly lowers himself so that he is sitting next to the sleeping body. Luckily, Childermass’ bed is big enough. Mr Strange breathes deep, and places a hand on Childermass’ head whilst praying to whomever might listen that the other man will not wake up. He remains as peaceful as ever, so Jonathan whispers the words of the spell.

It feels as though some part of him, some... essence, is moving through his body like a wind blowing through the branches of a frail tree. His skin is tingling and the feeling becomes so strong when it reaches his left hand that he has to struggle to hold in the gasp that is trying to escape his mouth. It is not completely unlike an orgasm. The sensation stops, and his consciousness grows still and dark for a few seconds. When he opens his eyes, he is aware of a large oak.

The scene that greets him is not at all what he had expected. It is a fine and warm day, early summer, by the looks of it. The grass is bright and green and the sun is high and there are birds singing, though he cannot see any. In front of him is a pond, and by the pond, two men are sitting on a blanket, seemingly having a picnic. Jonathan moves closer, though he does not know how, as he is not aware of having a body to move.

One of the men is John Childermass, which surpises Jonathan, as this scene had seemed too bright and joyous to involve someone like Childermass. While his hair is as dark as always, his clothes have a brighter tone than usual, and something about his face looks brighter as well. The look of irony and detachedment so characteristic for him is gone. He is... laughing?

The other man is sitting across from Childermass, giving Jonathan only a clear view of his back. His hair is short and brown and he is wearing similarly bright clothes. It does not seem to be Mr Norrell, as this person looks both younger and taller than Childermass’ old master. But how can one be sure when the landscape in front of you is a dream? It only seems most likely that this is some other version of Mr Norrell. Childermass must have known Mr Norrell when he was younger.

“Surely you do not suggest we spend all afternoon out here?” the anonymous man says.

“Surely you do not suggest we leave this place?” Childerman replies, lifting a bottle from the blanket and putting it to his lips.

“I am rather content, now that I think about it. It’s just a bit warm.” It does not sound like Gilbert Norrell.

Childermass smiles. It is not his usual smile, the smile which always makes you wonder whether he is laughing with you or at you, but a smile that seems to be spreading across his entire face. He reaches his empty hand over to the anonymus man, and it looks as though... he is unbuttoning his shirt? Perhaps it is Mr Norrell after all. While Jonathan had always assumed that other servants had taken care of dressing the man, perhaps it had been one of Childermass’ tasks. After all, there did not seem to be anyone who Mr Norrell had trusted as much as his former man of business. A small laugh escapes the other man’s lips.

“Thank you.”

What happens next is something Jonathan had not expected. Childermass moves his hand from the shirt, and to the other persons’ face, seemingly caressing it, while leaning closer to him. Close enough to touch their mouths together. A gasp escapes Jonathans lips.

“MR STRANGE!” Childermass yells, making the other person turn their head towards him.

John Segundus?

Jonathan is instantly pulled back into his body. Back onto the bed, where a bewildered Childermass is staring at him.

“... spying on me?”

Jonathan only hears half of the words Childermass is uttering, as he is already hurrying out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Childermass is not happy.  
> Short chapter, sorry!

John Childermass has had many rough awakenings in his days. A life on the streets, roads, or living in the servants’ quarters of a very demanding magician gives plenty of opportunities for ones’ sleep to be disturbed. A vague memory of being woken up by Lascelles placing a well-aimed slap on his left cheek finds its way into Childermass’ mind, followed by the memory of a shop-keeper holding a pistol over him when he found him sleeping amongst the inventory.

No, this was not the worst awakening in his life. It does, however, qualify as one of the worst ones this past year. He is somewhat upset about what Mr Strange saw in his dream. Even more upsetting is the person that Mr Strange happened to see. Childermass does not, however, think that Mr Strange would tell anyone about these things. The fact that Mr Strange had intruded upon his dream, had walked into his private room and had taken the liberty to peer into his mind is worse.

But the reason he is still awake, the reason it feels as though his heart rate still has not returned to normal even though an hour must have passed since Mr Strange left his room, is something different. The scenario Mr Strange had witnessed was a dream, intended only for his dreaming world. Childermass did not see anything wrong with having these dreams, but as Mr Segundus is both a friend and a colleague, he has made sure these thoughts stayed in the dreams. The dreams really did mostly consist of more sexual situations, but in his inebriated state they had enjoyed some fresh air and wine and Jonathan Strange had just happened to appear the one time they were not just fucking. Usually, it was only in some very specific circumstances that Childermass had these thoughts while awake, and they were only purely physical.

The latest occasion was about a month ago, when Mr Segundus had accompanied him to Hurtfew Abbey. Mr Norrell had invited Mr Segundus to study (and discuss) some of his more obscure texts and Childermass still conducted some business for the old magician, thus, they had both left Starecross and spent two nights in Hurtfew Abbey. On the ride back, it was as simple as Mr Segundus suggesting they take a swim, as the summer heat had taken its toll on both horses and riders and the smooth surface of the lake they had just reached looked incredibly cool. They dismounted, took their clothes off and led their horses into the water. Afterwards, the two men had laid on the warm ground to dry in the sun, while the horses had enjoyed some fresh grass. Childermass had watched Mr Segundus then, not even trying not to, his slim body wet and glistening in the sun. And he had spent the rest of the day thinking thoughts that might have made other men blush.

Childermass, however, would not blush. While he always had kept his personal life very personal, out of necessity, he did not much care what other people might think. He did what he wanted, sometimes with people who blushed, sometimes with people who were more like him. There had almost never been any sort of feelings involved, romantic or other, at least not while the act was being done. A few had been friends, a couple more like enemies, but most had been strangers. He had not felt any different about any of them after spending a night (or an hour) together, and that was how he wanted it to be.

John Childermass had not had the time, patience or willingness, to get involved with anyone since he was sixteen years old. He would sleep with them or befriend them, but he had never felt any kind of romantic feelings for them. He was, in this regard, more practical. But on this night, Childermass found himself thinking about Mr Segundus. Not only of his body and hands (but oh, did his thoughts linger on his hands), but also of the way his smiles always reached his eyes, giving them an almost otherworldly sparkle. He thought of the way he spoke of magic, as though it were still a precious thing that was not easily found. He though of Mr Segundus’ way of caring about most everyone, from the birds he would feed to the students he interviewed to his colleagues and most of all about himself. He thought of the way he had made Mr Segundus laugh the day before, and how his smile had brightened the room.

Childermass, being both sensible and practical, laid awake all night and found himself growing more and more furious. He had found a sensible and practical explanation for all these strange thoughts, it was, of course, the fact that his carefully concocted dream had been interrupted that had caused some lingering effects to spill into his waking life and all this disruption had confused both the contents of the dream as well as his thoughts and feelings and therefore, it was all Jonathan Strange’s fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I ever add the tag "slow burn"? No? Oops.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is morning, two magicians have not slept. One magician has slept very well and just wants everyone to get along.

John Segundus has always been an early riser. The hour just before the rest of the world wakes up is his favorite time of the day, when everything is bright and calm and only the animals and plants are awake. This morning, it sounds as though he is not the first to wake up, but he finds he does not mind. Living at Starecross, he has grown to appreciate the company of humans more. Life has been good to him lately. Seven months have passed since magic returned to England. Seven months since he performed his first intentional act of practical magic. Even though he has managed more magic since then, the thought of the first time always brings a smile to his face.

Six months have passed since John Childermass and Vinculus, the Book of the Raven King, had moved into Starecross Hall. They had already made appearances at all the magical societies of England (and Scotland) and had arrived at Starecross a rainy April afternoon. They had needed a place to stay, and if Segundus had not already been ready to offer them anything out of the kindness of his heart, he would have been convinced when Childermass had told him that he most of all needed a place to study his Book, and that he wished for Segundus to help him in any way he could.

A little less than four months had passed since Gilbert Norrell and Jonathan Strange had returned to England. They were both changed, and they were both the same. They did not say much about how they had broken the enchantment of the dark tower, but that was their choice and the people close to them seemed to accept it. John Childermass had been convinced that it was truly Mr Norrell when the old magician had said that he wished for nothing more than to return to Hurtfew Abbey and his books, and would Childermass please join him? Arabella Strange had assured them it was truly her husband, because an imposter would not have first been overjoyed to see her only to moments later turn to Mr Norrell to ask about a text they had read concerning the magical use of shoelaces.

Two months had passed since it had been decided that Starecross Hall would finally become a school for magicians. Mr and Mrs Strange had taken a bedroom to call their own whenever they were there, which had recently been most of the time. Jonathan Strange was to be member of staff, and had gladly agreed to help in any ways he could. Gilbert Norrell had not visited since the day he returned to England, but had sent a letter expressing that he would be happy to give one or two lectures as soon as the school had opened. Childermass had said “we’ll see” when Segundus had asked him if he would consider teaching at the school, but had agreed to assist in finding suitable pupils. Over twenty students had visited the Hall for interviews, and they were scheduled to visit a few others across the country in the coming months. It looked promising.

Two years ago, Segundus had never thought he could feel so happy about his own life, and now he had everything he had wished for. So he rose early every morning, he was often the first one to arrive at the kitchen, and gladly set himself to the task of making tea and slicing bread. When the others arrived, they would join him for a long breakfast and pleasant conversations until someone pointed out that there was work to be done.

John Segundus had expected this morning to be similar to those, that he might open the door in the kitchen to let some of that wonderful late-summer air in while preparing the breakfast tray. He would have his usual two cups of strong tea and two slices of Mrs Honeyfoot’s bread. He was so sure it would be a most usual morning that he almost did not see that someone was already seated at the table, and that the breakfast things were already out. John Childermass had never arrived at the table before Segundus, in fact, he was usually the last one to sit down. Yet here he is, staring at Segundus with eyes that might have frightened him half to death only a year ago. The only thing Segundus fears now are the harsh words that are sure to start spilling from Childermass’ mouth any second. He looks like a storm cloud, dark and ominous, like the loud rumble of thunder is mere moments away and Segundus should probably take cover before it starts raining. He decides to ignore it, to take his seat and greet Childermass with a smile. It is going to be a good day, no matter what kind of mood Childermass might be in.

“Good morning, Mr Childermass.” He does not bother to see if the smile is returned, and instead begins to pour his tea.

“Sir, did you know that Jonathan Strange was spying on me last night?”

The teapot is dangerously close to slipping from Segundus' hands, and he feels his thin skin betray him again as his cheeks grow warm. He is forced to accept that this morning will not be nice and calm, and carefully puts the teapot down.

“I am very sorry.” Segundus murmurs, and he means it. It had been a bad idea, but it had been their only idea. That Mr Strange should be discovered had not even occurred to him. He lifts his cup up, and wonders how long he can keep it in front of his face. How slowly can he drink the half-cup of tea he managed to pour? If there is tea in his mouth he cannot answer any more questions.

“You knew?”

Segundus puts his empty cup down, nods and then manages to actually look at Childermass’ face again. He does not quite dare to meet the other man's eyes, so he rests his gaze on the left eyebrow and hopes it will pass for eye contact.

“I am so sorry, Childermass. Perhaps this could wait until Mr Strange-”

“Mr Segundus! He went into my bedchamber!”

“How… did he _wake you up_?”

“Of course he woke me up.”

“It was never out intention that you should feel so… intruded upon. But here is Mr Strange, perhaps he can-”

Jonathan Strange stops in the doorway, looking as though he might be reconsidering the decision to start his day with breakfast. Perhaps a brisk walk across the moors might be a better choice.

“Is there any way I can avoid this conversation?”

“I’m afraid not.” Segundus says quietly while gesturing towards the empty chair between him and Childermass.

“Have you been scheming? Is that what you have been doing in the library?”

“I don’t know if scheming is the right word...” Mr Strange mutters as he sits down.

“Is this why I was offered a place here? So you might find out all my secrets?”

“No! Mr Childermass, please! We simply wanted to make sure we were right in putting our trust in you. You do have a history of… ruining our lives. We only thought we would put our lasts doubts to rest by seeing what you may be hiding from us.”

John Segundus had not thought that they would be found out, but even if they had, he had not thought that Childermass would be this upset. He is telling the truth when he explains the reason they had for doing it, but it somehow does no longer seem a good enough reason to peer into something as private as a persons dreams.

“And you never thought you might ask me?”

“Ask you! You speak in riddles and how are we to know you would not lie?” Mr Strange asks, and Segundus thinks it is a very sensible question. Childermass sighs loudly and pours himself some more tea. How much tea has he had by now? He starts buttering a piece of bread and the room is quiet. As Childermass returns to his breakfast, a silent conversation takes place between Segundus and Mr Strange, their eyes meet over the table and Segundus mouths the question “what is happening?”. Mr Strange shakes his head and gestures towards the food, “do we eat?” and Segundus shrugs in response and pours tea into both their cups.

“What is he doing?” Mr Strange asks through a serious of subtle gestures and less subtle stares. It could also have meant “What do we do?” but as Segundus doesn’t know the answer to either of these questions, he merely shrugs and returns to his bread. “Why is he not speaking?”, Segundus conveys his question through glances in Childermass’ direction, and by pointing at his own mouth. It seems as though Mr Strange does not quite understand, because he only shakes his head and reaches for another slice of bread.

“You are both very stupid.” Childermass finally says, and as they both turn their heads to him, they can see that he is actually smiling. It is not a very kind smile, but then again, calling them stupid is not a very kind thing to say.

“I understand that this must feel-”

“Are you not supposed to be two of the greatest magicians of the age? Mr Strange, have you forgotten your time with Mr Norrell completely?

“I am not sure I understand.”

“Pales’ truth revealed?”

Mr Stranges’ eyes widen. “Oh, we are stupid.”

“Would you care to explain?” Segundus asks, feeling even more stupid for not knowing of this magic.

“Simply put, I will be forced to tell the truth for a period of time. Allowing you to ask me all those things you have been worried about and knowing I am not lying or speaking in riddles.”

“And you would consent to this?”

“I would much rather be intruded upon on my own terms.”

The rest of the breakfast is not exactly pleasant, but it is spent planning for the magic that is to be done tomorrow. John Segundus has had his two slices of bread and two cups of tea, he feels as though Childermass has forgiven them for their mistake, and he is going to witness magic the next day. He bids the other two men a good morning, walks into his study and opens the windows. Soft air rushes in and caresses his cheeks, the sweet smell of the moors surrounding Starecross soothes him further, and Segundus decides that he will have a good day after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look! I actually wrote down the backstory that has been living in my head for months!  
> also edited some typos in the other chapters because I stopped being afraid of reading my own work. go me. sorry there's no sex yet. but I promise things will start happening in the next... three or four chapters. THANK YOU FOR READING.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan Strange wants to be Childermass' bff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY, this was meant to be so long but I got so bored of their sober conversation so I decided I'll just get them drunk some other time.  
> And I had to make this a separate chapter because otherwise my eyes would have bled.

While John Segundus was happily settling in for a few hours of studying in the quiet of his study, Jonathan Strange was frantically trying to think up an excuse as to why he would not accompany Childermass for a short walk outside. Sun allergies? Sore feet? The truth? “I’m sorry, but I think you will be very cross with me and it just sounds very unpleasant.” They left Starecross Hall as soon as Childermass had cleared the table, and were now heading towards the little grove of trees behind the building. Far away for privacy, close enough so that the walk would not exert them, which pleased Jonathan, as his months in the dark tower had made him rather too comfortable to enjoy long walks.

“I think this conversation will be more uncomfortable for you than it will be for me.” They have stopped right at the edge of the woods, and Childermass is leaning against the trunk of a large oak. 

“Most likely, yes.” Jonathan joins him in the shade of the canopy, and watches as Childermass stuffs some tobacco into his pipe. He finds himself wondering what he would look like smoking a pipe. Would he look like a villain, as Childermass does? Jonathan finds that tobacco is a much more pleasant topic to occupy his mind with. What were the magical properties of the plant? His thoughts are interrupted as Childermass speaks again.

“I would rather have this conversation now, tomorrow I might not be able to hide anything, and that would make you uncomfortable.” 

“I truly am sorry. Will you please be my friend again?” Jonathan means it. He has always found Childermass to be a most sensible man, and it would not do well if they were vexed with one another, since they are both going to be spending the coming months at Starecross. Childermass, however, scoffs.

“You distrust me so much that you would spy on me, and yet you want to be my friend?”

“Well, I like to think we were becoming friends. And now that I know your secret-” Jonathan stops himself, and silently cursing himself for not thinking before he speaks. It might have sounded more like a threat than he had intended. He looks at Childermass, who has an eyebrow raised and seems to be very interested in hearing how Mr Strange will finish the sentence. “I only mean, that if you would want to talk about it… I could be your friend.” 

“It’s not really a secret, I only prefer to keep my personal life private. No one needs to know.”  
Jonathan Strange is not sure if he wants to know. It feels as though they should both be somewhat inebriated if this conversation is to be less awkward. 

“Might I ask one question?”

Childermass nods and takes a long drag from his pipe. 

“Are you… involved with Mr Segundus?”

He is met with a laugh and raised eyebrows.

“’twas a dream, Mr Strange! A fantasy, the subject of the dream is irrelevant. Had you walked in a moment later you might have never been able to look either of us in the eye again.”

Jonathan decides that he will ask Childermass to share a bottle of gin with him some day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Childermass tells some truths, and learns some truths about himself too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just in case; cw: not very graphic depiction of an animal being harmed.
> 
> Also, please enjoy this playlist that has kept me from actually writing.  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/62aj9xO60kyG4G66eaAe11?si=J7vNxkQpRW6A9G5qkzZbXA

After dinner the following evening, Childermass performs the magic and joins the other magicians in the parlour. 

“Well, gentlemen. I dare say you already know the magic is done. Before we begin… I feel the need to tell you that I wish it had not come to this and that you could trust me without having to use magic. However, I am well aware that I have acted unjustly towards each and every one of you in the past, and so I do not judge you for needing this sort of… reassuring.”

“Was that the truth?”

“We should ask something to make sure he is truly incapable of lying!” 

“Right! Mr Childermass… what did I have for breakfast this morning?” Mr Strange asks, and Childermass can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Are you daft? Why would I want to lie about that? Two slices of bread and an oat cake, two cups of tea and you… you put honey on everything.” Childermass frowns. He is usually not the kind of person who remembers other people’s choices of food. 

“How did you come into Mr Norrell’s employ?” Mr Segundus asks

“That is a better question, sir. I happened to meet him when I was in a bookshop to steal some books of magic.” 

“Mr Childermass!” Mr Honeyfoot exclaims

“Oh, do not be shocked. I have spent most of my life stealing. Of course, there were no books of magic laying about in the shop. I was thirteen years old and did not know exactly how rare that type of book was. But then Mr Norrell walked in, exchanged a few words with the shopkeeper and before my eyes I saw three exquisite books being wrapped and placed in a very attractive footman’s arms, so, naturally I- ”

“Thank you Childermass, I think that is enough.” Mr Strange interrupts when he realizes that in addition to not being able to lie, it seems Childermass is quite eager to tell any truths he has been hiding.

“Oh, but I wanted to hear this story!” Mr Segundus says

“Well… I nestled my way into the household and proved to Mr Norrell how useful I could be and that is the very short version.”

“Forgive me, Childermass, but you were thirteen years old. Why would he hire you?” Mr Honeyfoot asks.

“’Twas the king’s doing.”

“Could you elaborate?”

Childermass puts the glass he had been holding down and places his trembling hands in his lap. He had not expected this question, and he had not expected that he would feel so desperate to tell the story he had sworn he would never tell anyone again. The words flow out of his mouth like a stream that has been dammed by leaves and twigs, he cannot stop it.

“I was nine years old. My mother raised me and my sister alone, as you probably know, we were poor. We lived right outside the city limits and I was hungry. I’d set up snares, sometimes, catch a hare or pheasant if I was lucky. I hadn’t had a proper meal for weeks. Bread and turnips, mostly. It was summer and it was hot. We got by, but I was so hungry, and there was a bird in the snare. I’ve no idea how it got there, perhaps it saw the shine from the wire. Perhaps it had no choice. I was so pleased that I’d caught something. It was a big bird, I think there was some part of my mind that was saying “no, you know this does not belong to you” but I was a hungry child.

I brought it home, left it outside while I fetched the knife. I plucked its feathers and I cut its head off, it was messy, I wasn’t skilled with knives and I was young and eager. My hands turned red and I was sweating and I must have gotten blood on my face, too. I cut its feet off. Small feathers stuck to my skin. I managed to find some pieces that looked like meat, and so I cooked them and ate them. It never occurred to me that I should offer to share it with my mother and sister, maybe I would have if they’d been home. 

When my mother got home, she found the feathers, the head and the feet and then she found me, covered in blood and feathers, and she understood everything. She was angry, she told me that the King would find me and punish me, and that I had sinned. She told me I had eaten a raven, one of John Uskglass’ birds and I think she was actually worried about me. And that’s what scared me the most, if mother is scared, it must be bad. I saw her wrapping what was left of the raven in some cloth and carrying it off. I didn’t cry much, but I was so very scared that night. I laid awake and cried so hard until I had exhausted myself. He came to me in my dreams, he was cross with me and scolded me, much like my mother had, but he forgave me. He understood that I hadn’t meant any harm, and told me to stop being afraid. And that he would come and see me again.”

“This is… how have you not told us this before?” Mr Segundus asks, looking stunned.

“I saw no reason to. And I haven’t remembered all these details before, it must be some effect of the magic. He came back when I was twelve. He told me I was old enough to understand and old enough to start doing his work. I am not sure what he did, but it was shortly after this that I first met Mr Norrell and was employed.” 

Childermass empties his glass in one long sip, glad it’s wine and not tea. It is such a strange feeling. He is saying things he’s never told anyone, and he is telling them things he didn’t know that he could remember. He has no choice but to trust them now, because some part of him is telling him that his King would have stopped him otherwise. 

Mr Honeyfoot, Mr Strange and Mr Segundus all stare at him in silence for a long while. Childermass sees something he can only describe as pity in their eyes. He neither wants nor needs it, and it is a painful reminder that he should continue avoiding speaking of his childhood. Mr Honeyfoot, sensible as always, is the one who braves the silence with a new question.

“Are you still under his employ?”

“Occasionally, but you already knew that. I sometimes find books for him, or help him with his studies or business. I do not, however, consider myself to be under his employ in the same way as before.”

“I think what Mr Honeyfoot means… Are you and him plotting against us?” It is clear that Mr Strange is very uncomfortable when asking this, most likely because his doubts regarding Childermass have already decreased significantly. It feels more as though he is conducting an interview with a list of question that must be asked, and less like an interrogation. 

“No. Not that I know of. I’m more yours than his.” Childermass’ gaze moves to Mr Segundus even though he tries not to, he is not sure if anyone notices. He is sure, however, that no one notices how he is digging his nails into the palms of his hands. He had not meant to say that and he had certainly not meant to look at John Segundus when saying it. Even his body seems to have secrets to reveal. He can’t look away.

“And you would not help him if he chose to go against us in some way? Even if he offered you… well, whatever it is that he might offer you.” It sounds as though Mr Strange is as ready to be done with this interview as Childermass is. He knows he should look at Mr Strange as he was the one who asked the question, but he is speaking to Mr Segundus.

“No, I would not. First of all I would not because I am not his man anymore. The Raven King is my only master now, and what I do, I do for magic. And you are very dear to me, and I would not wish to harm you in any way. No matter what he offered me.” 

Childermass can hear Mr Strange’s voice, but he can’t hear a single word. His hands are shaking and he feels very warm. He reaches for the wine bottle, but Mr Segundus, ever so attentive, is closer and pours a glass for him, a smile on his face. 

“Thank you.” Childermass says quietly, and he feels his cheeks growing hot. Pale never mentioned these things, but then again, perhaps it was only intended for ones enemies. Something is moving in his chest, pulling all his attention from the wine and the conversation and Mr Strange and Mr Honeyfoot and right to to John Segundus. 

“Well!” Mr Strange says, loud enough to catch Childermass’ attention. He should thank him later. “I think that is quite enough, don’t you? Mr Childermass, you seem a bit tired, perhaps we should all get some rest?” Childermass agrees, he is out of the room before anyone can stop him. He rushes up the stairs and into his room, where he starts packing his travelling bag. Just for a few days.

There is a knock on the door, followed by the creaking of the door swinging open, and then close. Of course he forgot to lock it. It is Mr Strange, and he is wearing the same expression he had on when Childermass had spoken of his childhood.

“I would really appreciate it if you left, sir.” he mutters while piling up his loose papers and notebooks. He really should start keeping them in better order.

“Mr Childermass,” Mr Strange starts, and when Childermass starts putting his notes into folders, he continues.“Please know that I consider you a friend.”

“And I you. But please-”

“And as a friend, I’m somewhat concerned that you seem to be leaving and that you seem upset.”

“I shall leave for Hurtfew.”

“And know that I do wish I could have asked you this any other day, considering the circumstances. But I must know. How are you?”

Childermass presses his lips together. Keeping his mouth shut for as long as possible. He picks up the stack of brown leather folders. “It feels as though some creature with great sharp claws has ripped my chest open.” He places the folders in a saddle bag and continues, even though he would do anything to not have to continue.“It feels as though the creature has crawled into my chest and is slowly chewing on my heart. And yet it does not feel like physical discomfort. It feels like drowning but there is no water so I couldn’t be drowning. It feels like I should leave.”

“Do you know what the feeling is?”

“N-Yes.”

“Were you lying to me the other day? When… I asked. About him.”

“No. I did not know.”

“But you know now.”

“Yes, Mr Strange. I know now. My heart seems to have started beating in a different pace because I see him. This was not supposed to happen again and I would not wish this pain on anyone. I see him now and I want nothing more than to see him again, but also to not see him. Not ever.”

“Childermass, must you leave?”

“I will be back. I’ll come back and it’ll be well. I will be myself again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, look, I have so many places I wanted to go with this? And I usually can't even finish one page so it's a fucking miracle that this is 30k+.
> 
> I read a lot of folklore, and I hope you all know that harming a raven is WRONG. Further, carrying the heart of a raven (wrapped in wolfskin) around your neck will bring your true love to you. Eating a raven will make you wise but also a theif. I really just wanted young Childermass to be covered in raven blood. IS THAT SO WRONG?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically, Childermass on holiday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I look at this story I think "wow, I have no idea when this is I should at the very least add a month and year" and then I forget. And doing it right now would be such hard work.
> 
> So I apologize if you are as confused as I am about the timeline. I just can't be bothered.

John Childermass has spent some rather pleasant days at Hurtfew Abbey. The time spent in the greatly diminished library has been quiet and comfortable, and he has not been asked a single question about his personal life. Mr Norrell, while still not fully willing to admit that Childermass too might be considered a Magician, has given him much more freedom with his books, even allowing him to make notes of his own while reading them. He is, of course, still Mr Norrell, and insists on telling Childermass his opinions upon every single subject, and scoffing whenever Childermass voices his own opinions. 

He puts his energy into studying and doing some odd jobs that Mr Norrell have been saving for him. These include taking him to York to order three new suits and giving the new servants instructions on how one might best proceed with one's tasks when working for an esteemed magician. Most of the time is spent assisting Mr Norrell’ with his great project, for he has finally begun to write his book. Childermass brings various books of notes for him, reads whatever he actually manages to write and is trusted with giving advice upon the art of expressing oneself through text. Childermass has asked him, on several occasions, if he wouldn’t rather have Mr Strange assist him, but the only answer he has gotten is a shaking head. He supposes that he is still too timid to share this with the other great magician of the age.

When he is not in the library with Mr Norrell, Childermass is outdoors. He breathes in the surroundings that were his home for so many years, he buries himself deep in memories, both good and bad. He visits the few acquaintances that still live in the area, most have either moved or died. He carefully avoids walking near the hill west of Hurtfew Abbey, taking long detours to avoid the gaze of the small brown building sitting atop it. He doesn’t even know if they still live there, or if they would remember him, but he would rather not know. He lingers in the woods, taking in the smells of early autumn, soft moss, sharp fir needles and juniper berries.

After five days, Childermass is pleased to see Davey returning to Hurtfew. He had been employed elsewhere, but was the only person from the old household who had chosen to return to Mr Norrells service. That night, as they are sharing a pipe of tobacco on Davey’ bed, Childermass asks him why he came back.

“I dunno, guess it just feels like home here.” Davey answers while brushing a stray lock of hair from Childermass’ face. Childermass closes his eyes, and a brief image of softer hands rushes into his mind. He opens his eyes and looks at the man laying next to him. Naked. Uncomplicated.

“He always respected you.” 

“He always respected you.” Childermass lets out a short laugh and rolls his eyes.

“He respects me when I do what he asks and when I say what he wants to hear. It’s not quite the same.”

“You don’t feel at home here?” Davey asks, and then rolls onto his back and folds his arms behind his head. Childermass remembers this, even though it’s been a few years since they last met like this, he remembers exactly what Davey wants when he stretches out on his bed with his arms behind his head. He ignores the question and gives him what he wants. It is uncomplicated.

When he returns to his own bedchamber later that night, he looks outside and sees a light on the hill. He has not tampered with his dreams since that night at Starecross, but this night he has to keep the light on the hill out of his dreams. He chooses to dream of Vinculus and the King’s Letters. He learns nothing new, but it keeps his dreams clear of hills and lakes and John Segundus. 

Childermass wakes up early, and after seeing that Mr Norrell is still asleep, he goes outside. It is raining, and a mist lays across the ground like a blanket of snow. The hill is barely visible, but Childermass doesn’t need to see neither path or hill to find his way there. He could get there blindfolded. The hill feels steeper than it did some twenty years ago and his clothes and hair are dripping wet and the discomfort is oddly comforting. He is nothing more than a shadow in the rain when he reaches the top of the hill and walks past the house and to the line of stones. The rain has turned into a soft whisper against his skin when he reaches the third stone, and as he sits down on the wet ground, it stops.

“I still miss you.” Childermass says in a voice that only he and the dead can hear. “I ache from missing you and I sometimes wish we had never met.” He never means it. “I am glad that I got to know you and that we had… what we had. I wish it had lasted longer and I wish you were still here.” He always means this. “I love you.” he whispers to the headstone and the muddy ground and the dandelions growing on the grave. Childermass closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and allows the memories to flood his mind. The good memories outweigh the bad ones, but perhaps that is why it’s so painful. A hurt that seeps into his every cell and which seems to wrap him in a shroud of regrets and tears and spite. He allows himself to mourn, up on the hill is where he cries and pulls at the dandelions and remembers everything. Up on the hill is where he is still sixteen and heartbroken.

When the rain begins to fall again, Childermass knows he has wept enough. He composes himself, and in his mind, he transforms the memories into feathers. He stands up and tries to brush some grass and mud from his soaked coat, and he transforms the feathers into a bird. He releases the bird as he starts walking down the hill. He used to do this every year, when Mr Norrell was still living at Hurtfew Abbey, every year he would release a bird and it would get smaller each time. Living in London meant that he could not do it every year, but it had also meant that the memories were further away. They stayed on the hill, by the lake and in the woods.

There is one memory that Childermass has kept, that he allows himself to remember from time to time, when he thinks he might forget or when the first crocuses awaken from their slumber in spring. A bright smile and a hand on his cheek after their first kiss, in the woods below the hill. He remembers the feeling of smooth skin against his own and the sound of soft laughter and the smell of juniper. Nothing more and nothing less, just a moment when they were happy. He walks back to Hurtfew and by the time he is back on the bridge, he feels clean, like himself again. An hour later, Childermass is standing with his hands against the wall at the back of the stable, and as Davey is thrusting into him, he thinks of nothing but John Segundus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the version where I'm being nice to Childers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leap day means cheat day which means you can enjoy this half finished chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, this is   
> a. very short  
> b. NOT FINISHED.
> 
> because I need to keep writing and this chapter was killing me and I really just want to MOVE ON.

Mr Childermass

I write to you to ask that you return as soon as possible. Vinculus has come back to Starecross and he has brought a wife with him and we are not equipped for this. It is most vexing that someone so important is at the same time so utterly appalling.

Further, we have received two more applications, and they are to be interviewed here on Thursday and Friday next, and while we are quite capable of conducting these interviews ourselves, we value the insights you can offer us on the character of the pupils.

As I said before you left us, I do consider you a friend, and I must thus admit that I miss your company. You are the closest to an equal in this field that I have here. It seems that our colleagues feel your absence as well, it was Mr Segundus who suggested we should ask you to return for the interviews.

If any of these points might persuade you to return, it would be most excellent. If not, and if you do not return before Thursday, we shall be forced to come and collect you.

Your friend

Jonathan Strange

“Who writes to you?” asks Mr Norrell when Childermass is opening the letter.

“Mr Strange, sir.”

“Oh. And what does he want?”

“Mr Norrell, as I am no longer your servant, I am under no obligation to tell you of my private correspondences.”

“No, I suppose not.” Mr Norrell makes a face that is not too unlike that of a child who has been told they cannot have a new toy.

Childermass ignores him, and reads through the letter, feeling a soft, but bearable ache in his chest when he reads John Segundus’ name. He reads through it once more before folding it and putting it back in the envelope.

“It seems I am wanted back at Starecross, sir.”

“I see. I suppose they think I am trying to steal you away from them?”

“Mr Norrell.”

“Well you can tell them I did not send for you! And that you yourself have chosen to stay for this long!”

“Mr Norrell. They know my loyalties are neither with you or Mr Strange.”

“But how can they know this?”

“We performed Pale’s truth revealed. They asked both of my loyalties and what I knew of your plans. I told them the truth, and it seems they trust both me and you a great deal more.”

“Childermass! You allowed them to use that kind of magic upon you?”

“I did it myself.”

“Well! That was foolish, how on earth were you able to perform such a complex spell?”

“You know this already, Mr Norrell. They expect me to return as soon as possible, Thursday at the latest. Will you join me?”

“I do not see what I would do at Starecross.”

Childermass returns to Starecross on the third Thursday of September, and Gilbert Norrell returns with him. He is not pleased with the long journey or with leaving his library, but he has never been able to turn down the opportunity to be in the same room as a rare book. He is, of course, appalled when he realizes that he will have to gaze upon Vinculus’ bare skin to see the letters, but he still spends two long hours studying the man. 

They all dine together that night, and while neither of them would ever admit it, Mr Norrell and Mr Strange are pleased to be in each others company once again, and retreat to the library as soon as they have finished their sherry. Childermass has made it through half a day at Starecross without saying more than a few words to Mr Segundus, and as he suspects his luck may not last if he stays in the parlour, he bids him good night and hurries to his bedchamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What you missed if you read this before it's finished: Childermass pines.  
> That's about it. Either wait a month until I write 300 words of pining Childers, or just keep reading.  
> (I'm VERY invested in this project and having Chapter Seven (my nemesis) in the back of my head was ruining EVERYTHING. thus. here's a trash-version of it, I might rewrite it in the future. you'll find out through some future note? I JUST HAVE TO KEEP THIS THING GOING.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan Strange and John Childermass drink gin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here: a lot of conversation in a short chapter because I... have a lot to say in the next one.  
> This story will absolutely be longer than fifteen chapters.  
> If I wasn't so eager, I would have made this a three-part story with like 10 chapters in each.  
> I am silly.  
> And eager!

Mr Norrell only stays at Starecross for a couple of days before he starts missing the comfort and solitude of his own home. He has taken some notes on the Book but after realizing that he actually does not know anything that all the other magicians of England do not, he decides that he would rather continue with his own studies.

Jonathan Strange is both relieved and disappointed when his friend leaves, it had been nice to be back in the company with a practical magician, and he and Norrell always seemed to fall into the most interesting discussions. He had, however, also fallen back into his old habit of being constantly vexed with the other man’s lectures and dismissal of everything related to the Raven King. He enjoyed Mr Segundus company, but he had always felt more like a friend than an actual colleague and while Mr Segundus was an accomplished scholar, his scholarship did not include many works _of_ magic.

Childermass, on the other hand, had worked closely with the greatest scholar of magic for years. He was an accomplished magician, he seemed open to all kinds of magic and he never lectured. So Jonathan Strange had decided to bring out the bottle of gin he had planned on sharing with Childermass, and so here he is, three glasses in, knocking on Childermass’ door.

“Magician! Let me in!”

The door opens ever so slightly everything about Childermass’ is telling Jonathan to leave, he looks tired and as though the company of a drunk magician might be the one thing that could make the night worse.

“Absolutely not.”

“But I owe you a drink!” he waves the bottle in front of Childermass’ face.

“No, you don’t.”

“You owe me a drink?”

Childermass says no three more times, until he begrudgingly agrees to follow Jonathan to his bedchamber for drinks. Once inside, he opens the window and lights a pipe. Jonathan hands him a glass of gin and sits down on the bed. Crisp autumn air mixes with the smell of tobacco and makes its way into the room, Childermass still looks unhappy, but somewhat more relaxed.

“You really look like you need a drink.” Jonathan raises his glass in a toast and downs the remaining gin. To his surprise, Childermass mimics his actions and Jonathan quickly refills both glasses.

“Don’t I always look like I need a drink?”

“Is that a joke?”

“Perhaps.”

“You do give out a certain air of… desperately wanting to escape the mortal realm.”

“Well, thank you for the drink.”

“You did need it, then?”

Childermass sighs and taps out the last tobacco from the pipe through the window before closing it.

“Are you going to ask me all the questions you have about me now?”

“Will you answer them?” Jonathan asks, somewhat surprised that he has managed to keep Childermass in here for this long.

“Will you keep my glass full?”

“Yes.” he replies, even more surprised that Childermass seems to be agreeing to answer his questions.

“You will, of course, answer any questions I have for you in turn.”

Of course he would, Jonathan had always fancied himself an open book. He took pride in being the more open and honest one out of the two great magicians of the age, and vaguely remembers having told Childermass as much on another occasion. He watches as the other man pulls the chair from the desk to the bed and sits down, his eyes on Jonathan and his hand still clutching the glass.

“He doesn’t know, does he?”

Childermass’ expression goes from passive to something a bit darker, perhaps a bit pained. Perhaps he should have started with something easier.

“I’ll talk about anything but him, Mr Strange. But no, he does not. Were you planning on telling him?”

“Oh! No! Of course not. I was just… wondering.” Jonathan should have absolutely started with something easier. He refills their glasses, and then leans back against the wall again. They talk about other, safer, subjects. Jonathan tells Childermass about some of the magic he did in the Peninsula, and is rather surprised when Childermass wants to hear more about his workings with trees. They talk about Starecross, and agree that it will be rather nice to finally get some servants in the Hall. After two more drinks, Jonathan braves the subject again.

“Can I ask about your personal life if I don’t mention him?”

Childermass raises an eyebrow, and then shrugs. Jonathan is fairly certain that a shrug is a yes.

“Are you… that is, have you been with other men?”

“’Course. Why?”

“I just can’t remember seeing you with… well, anyone, other than Norrell in London.”

“You do know there are laws against that sort of thing, right?”

“I only meant that… I never noticed!

“You were always in the library with Mr Norrell, of course you didn’t notice.”

“Do you mean to say you were… with someone when I was in the house?”

Childermass smiles, and it is a sideways smile that makes him look as secretive as ever. Jonathan, in his highly inebriated state, is sure he can see what Childermass’ smile actually means – he is enjoying himself. He has kept all his secrets for years and now he can tell them to a drunk person he might actually trust.

“Oh, go on! Is it someone I know? One of the servants?”

“You seem very interested in this subject, Mr Strange. Perhaps you, too, have some inclination towards men? Is that why this entire subject doesn’t shock you as much as it might?”

“Will you tell me who it is if I answer the question?”

“Of course.”

“I might have had some… experiences when I was younger. Was it Drawlight?”

“Drawlight?”

“I always thought he seemed a bit bent. Horrible person, though.”

“Close, but no.”

“Lascelles!”

“Lascelles.”

“But he’s even worse!”

“Oh, he wasn’t so bad when I muffled him.”

“You used magic on him?”

“No, Mr Strange, I did not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This conversation was different the first time I wrote it (three months ago?), but it was deleted by an ass.   
> CAN I JUST SAY THAT I AM VERY EXCITED ABOUT THE NEXT CHAPTER?  
> of course I can.  
> and if anyone else secretly and shamefully ships Childermass/Lascelles, I've already started writing the spin-off.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two silly magicians doing silly magic.

September becomes October and the strange assortment of people at Starecross have grown from four to nine. Arabella Strange has joined her husband for a few weeks, and they have begun looking at properties closer to Starecross. With her, she has brought a cook and a servant, it is still not decided if they are to work at Starecross full-time, but they had agreed to stay at the Hall while the house in Shropshire was empty. The four gentlemen were rather pleased that they no longer had to make their own tea or build their own fires. They would, however, miss Mrs Honeyfoot’s bread.

Vinculus and his wife, Sarah, have moved into a small house on the edge of Starecross village. Sarah has become the first student of magic at Starecross, and Mr Segundus is pleased that they have been given the chance to practice their teaching skills before the other students arrive. Vinculus has not changed,, and Childermass tells Mr Strange that he suspects that Sarah’s interest in the man is mainly due to the magic he possesses.

They make no progress in reading Vinculus. He has seen (or been seen by) most magicians in England by now, and not a single one has been able to decode his message. There have been a few guesses, but nothing that seems accurate or even remotely likely. Still, Childermass persists. He can most often be found in the library, looking over the transcripts again and again. His latest experiment was to read the transcripts in a dream, which worked no better than his many attempts at reading Vinculus himself in his dreams. The fact that he is not meant to be the Reader of the Book is becoming more and more evident, and it has caused him to grow somewhat weary of the task. When Childermass is not in the library, he spends some time with Mr Strange, who has actually become something of a friend to him. They go on long rides across the moors or share drinks at the pub in Starecross village.

Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot are much occupied with the school. They have accepted ten students now, and are still undecided if they should let two more in or not. The restoration of the old building is almost finished, and Mr Segundus hopes that Mrs Strange will help them with the more decorative final touches. Mr Segundus and Mr Honeyfoot share the position of headmaster, though it is mostly a formality. They have been dependent on both Mr Strange and Mr Childermass when drawing up lesson plans, interviewing students and, most of all, when acquiring books for their library. Mr Honeyfoot was one of the unlucky people who had not been touched by practical magic, but remained a theoretical magician throughout his life, so being headmaster at a school for magic felt like a dream come true. He does, of course, spend most of his time at home, with his family.

Mr Strange writes upon his next book and is very eagerly swallowing every ounce of magic he can get his hands on, and one might think that his reason for becoming friends with Mr Childermass was so he could learn some of his wild magic. He has started writing long letters to Mr Norrell, as their evening in the library had caused the both of them to realize just how valuable their friendship was. They do, of course, only discuss magic.

By mid-October, Childermass is becoming very frustrated. He still cannot understand a single word, nor letter, of the book. There does not seem to be a single person in England who can understand it, so he thinks he might have to look elsewhere. The one place there may be someone left who can read the King’s Letters. Faerie. There is, of course, another reason for this.

* * *

With all the interviews being done, and with Mr Strange doing his bit of teaching with Sarah, John Segundus had suddenly gotten more time to spend studying, which he naturally wants to do with the King’s Book. He has spent several days in the library with Childermass now, and he had been entirely convinced that their task was impossible until last night. He had lain awake and thought about the Book until the sun had begun to rise, when he had remembered that there was a spell they had not tried. He is eager to try it, but afraid of suggesting it to Childermass. It feels silly, it feels as though Childermass must have thought of it before and surely he must have already tried it?

“Sir, is there something you wish to ask me?”

The sound of Childermass’ voice startles Segundus, and he feels his face turning red. He had not realized that he had been staring. Childermass is sitting on the floor with his legs stretched out in from of him, two books laid open on each side of him, and the one he is currently flipping through laid across his thighs.

“I’m sorry. I did not mean to stare. I was only wondering… is there any magic you have not tried yet?”

Childermass sighs, moves the book and draws his legs up to his chest. He rests his head on his knees and faces Mr Segundus as he speaks.

“’Course I haven’t tried everything. But I can’t see how turning Vinculus into glass would help.”

Mr Segundus thinks he sees the shadow of a smile on Childermass’ face, though it could just be an actual shadow. Nevertheless, he decides that the worst that can happen is that his suggestion is even more ridiculous than he had thought.

“Have you… that is - What about truth revealed?”

“Truth revealed?”

“Yes?”

“Vinculus isn’t lying about being entirely ignorant as to his… content.”

“Oh, no. I meant… on the transcripts?”

“Sir, are you suggesting we ask the pages to tell us the truth?”

“Well… yes?”

Mr Segundus cannot read the expression on Childermass’ face. He thinks he is being ridiculed, and that perhaps he should not have said anything. But there is also something about Childermass that makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he is listening. He has treated him, and everyone else at Starecross, with more respect these past months, and he has left the ridiculing to Vinculus, and occasionally Mr Strange. Childermass stands up and stretches his limbs before walking over and sitting down on the desk, next to the book Mr Segundus had been reading. His face looks softer, almost kind.

“I suggest you do not get your hopes up, sir. But we should try everything. Will you do it?”

“Oh, but I’ve never-”

“I’ll show you. C’mon, Mr Segundus, when have you ever turned down the opportunity to try some new magic?”

He had not planned that he would be the one to do it, but Childermass is often right, and he can feel his heart racing at the thought of performing magic. He has still only successfully performed five feats of magic, and will of course never turn an opportunity like this down.

The first part of the spell is quite simple, and Mr Segundus only needs to hear the instructions once, the words are easy enough to understand and repeat, but then there is the gesture, which looks very simple when Childermass is demonstrating it. Mr Segundus, however, has shorter fingers and is much less dextrous, and after trying to shape his hand into a particular kind of triangle several times, he is ready to give up and let Childermass perform the spell.

“You’re very close, only, you have to think of it more like a… path. A path for your words.”

“Would you show me?”

Something about Childermass’ expression changes, but Mr Segundus finds that his face is as difficult to read as ever. He gets up from the desk and stands behind Mr Segundus.

“Try it again, Mr Segundus. Slowly.”

So he tries again, and he knows he is doing something wrong. Childermass shifts behind him, and leans over him, his head slightly above his left shoulder, placing his arms along his own and placing his hands over his own. Mr Segundus realizes that he has never been this close to him before, and that his hands are surprisingly warm. Perhaps he should be feeling a bit uncomfortable, but he feels safe, because he actually knows that Childermass is only doing this to help him.

“Tell me if it hurts.”

The words are a soft whisper, offering another glimpse of kindness as Childermass begins to move Mr Segundus’ fingers into the correct position. His fingers seem to move very slowly across his own, straightening them out and bending them until his hands actually resembles the shape Childermass had made.

“See here? Just keep these like this,” Childermass gently touches the back of Mr Segundus index and ring fingers before he continues, “and you keep this finger in front of this” he whispers, dragging his index finger along Mr Segundus’ middle fingers. It is such a simple touch and yet it elicits an extraordinary sensation in Mr Segundus. A light shiver that starts where Childermass’ fingertip is touching his skin and moving through his body. It reminds him of getting snow inside ones’ clothes and feeling it slowly melting, leaving an icy trail down your spine, except this is on the inside of his body, and it is not entirely unpleasant. As a matter of fact, as the sensation reaches the lower parts of his torso, his body decides that it is most pleasant. His cheeks grow very warm and he realizes that he is holding his breath, but if he lets his breath out the sensation might stop and- Childermass speaks and Segundus lets a somewhat unsteady breath out as he removes his fingers.

“I had my thumbs directed towards me when I used it on myself, so perhaps point them towards the transcript?”

The moment is over, and Segundus is not sure what had just happened. Or why his body had reacted the way it did. He tries to make the gesture on his own, and succeeds. After going through it once again, he stands up and performs the entire spell from start to finish. He whispers the words through his fingers and feels them moving through the triangle that his hands have created and into the paper. He has done the magic.

The ink starts shifting slowly, it begins to swirl on the page, and for a second, Segundus believes it might rewrite itself into legible letters, but then it simply slithers to the edges of the paper and onto the desk, where it is quickly soaked up by the wood. It is perplexing, and Segundus worries about the desk, but then something even stranger happens. Childermass makes a sound that can only be a laugh, and when Segundus looks at him, he is covering his mouth with his hand.

“Are you laughing at me?”

And then the strangest thing of all happens. Childermass removes his hand, and Segundus can see the wide smile on his face. It is the most genuine expression of emotion he has ever seen on Childermass, he somehow looks brighter and more… there. Segundus is not completely sure what the feeling that is building up inside him is at first, it is different from the physical sensation that seemed to have happened hours ago. This feeling is both familiar and strange, it is completely shocking and entirely expected. It reminds him of seeing the first snowdrops of the year, of a warm fire during a storm or of the first time he had performed magic.

It had been Childermass who had told him to do the magic that time. He had always been there, but it was as though Segundus was seeing him for the first time. John Childermass, the person standing in front of him right now, and not Childermass the servant. Mr Segundus takes note of the thin scar on his cheek, the arched eyebrows that seem a bit too neat on someone as wild-looking as him. He understands that the feeling is affection, a warm and slow longing, as opposed to the quick and icy pang of lust he had felt before. He looks at Childermass’ lips and he is sure he is blushing, and when he looks into John Childermass’ eyes, he is sure the world changes. The library seems to fall away, as though a frosted window pane is covering the rest of the room. It seems to be both more quiet and more dark, but he is also quite certain that he can hear Childermass’ lungs and heart working furiously and he can see him just as vividly as before. More vividly. It as though the only light left in the room is shining upon them, as though the world has created this moment just for them. The air feels heavy, and Mr Segundus is sure that if he were to move, his movements would be slowed down, as though underwater.

He has never really thought about his heart before, but now he is sure that his heart is the cause of all this and he can feel it beating, the rhythm making a song only meant for John Childermass’ ear. It is pure bliss, it is comfort and warmth, hope and longing and most certainly magic. There are words throbbing at the back of his throat, words that need to be said, words that he might never dare utter again. He opens his mouth and smiles. He speaks.

“John...” it comes out as a whisper, even though he had meant to say it out loud. Had he even meant to call him “John”? Mr Segundus cannot remember ever calling him John before. He has never really thought of him as John before, but right now, the man standing before him feels like John.

Childermass’ smile falters, but slowly, so slow that Mr Segundus can observe every little movement of his lips.

“Are you doing this?” he asks and Childermass only shakes his head, but perhaps he had been doing it, because the world around them starts to feel normal again. The light pattering of the rain against the window and voices from the other side of the Hall can be heard and Mr Segundus can no longer hear Childermass’ heart. He is still the centre of his attention though, still the only thing he can see. He moves his hand from the desk and to clutches it to his chest, he must know if his heart is beating as fast as he thinks. He feels a smile forming on his lips again, and he cannot help it. He has to tell him and he has to tell him now.

“John, I think… There’s something I need to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically: thank you tumblr for enabling me and my love for these boys and thank you everyone who's left kudos and commented. I've been so emotional lately so I had to say thanks, also, being emotional was quite helpful when writing this! scene! (100% based on all the times I've fallen in love/lust.)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello this chapter was supposed to be longer but I realized I really don't care about bickering magicians who are not pining for each other so half of it had to go.
> 
> the next part will be up very soon because both! are! short!

Only a month has passed since the last time Childermass was preparing to leave Starecross and it feels as though he has stayed for too long and as though he should have left weeks ago. He thought it would be fine, that he would keep his distance from Mr Segundus and that his feelings would become less intense with time. It might have worked if, a week ago, Mr Segundus had not started spending time in library with him. It might have still been fine if this morning had not happened.

He had known the magic would never work, and he had known he had only agreed to it because he wanted to see Mr Segundus do magic. He wanted to see the look of pure concentration on his face when performing the magic and the look of pure joy on his face when he had accomplished it. He should have told him “close enough” when he needed help to perfect the spell, because the results would most likely have been the same. He had known, the whole time, that the one thing he should not do was to touch Mr Segundus when they were alone.

But he had, because Mr Segundus had asked him. It was an innocent touch, perhaps a bit longer than needed. It had been enough to make him feel that familiar warm feeling in his chest and more than enough to make him want one more touch. The magic had worked, he had felt it before he had seen it, but it had not achieved its purpose, all it had done was reveal the blank paper underneath the ink. He had been careless to allow himself to get so close, and careless to let himself enjoy the closeness.

He had felt as though some magic other than the one Mr Segundus had performed had been there. For a moment, he could have sworn that the large windows had been open and that the sun was out, the musty air of the library had felt cooler. A scent of wet earth, warmed by the spring sun. Snowdrops and crocuses, a creek full of freshly melted snow, tiny green shoots in the dirt and a feeling of hope. The smallest green buds on the branches of the hedges, birds returning to their homes to build their nests and maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself to feel happiness.

“John.”

Hearing Mr Segundus say his name had brought him back to reality. No one had called him John since he had been a boy. Sixteen. Hearing it from John Segundus smiling lips had felt wonderful and then terrible and then completely overwhelming. Childermass was used to hiding his emotions in all situations, and lately, he had become very proficient at hiding his feelings for Mr Segundus. On most days, it was easy. Some days, it was more difficult. Some days, John Segundus was just a little bit too close to him, or his sleeves were rolled up and the top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned. This day, it was all those things and it was magic and the way he had looked at him and the way he had said his name. This day, it was unbearable.

“Are you doing this?” he had asked, and Childermass was sure it was the magic that he had felt and so he had shaken his head and the rain had danced on the windows and the air had grown heavy.

“John, I think… There’s something I need to tell you.”

Whatever it was, it would have to wait. John Childermass was good at hiding emotions and he was good at pushing certain emotions into a place deep inside himself and he was good at turning certain emotions into anger. He was not good at handling several strong emotions at once and he realized that most of all he was terrible at pretending that he was not aching for John Segundus.

“It can wait, can’t it? I have things to do.”

And he had left the library and he had left Mr Segundus, still his hand clutched to his chest and with a faltering smile on his lips.

* * *

There are protests as Childermass announces his plans to leave, and some heated arguments when he tells them where he is going. He is, however, used to arguing for his causes, whether or not he believes himself to be in the right, and so they all reluctantly agree that yes, maybe going to faerie is a good idea. They do not agree that this precise moment is the right time to leave though, the roads are muddy and it is still raining and any sensible gentleman would wait until the weather is nicer. He tells them where he is going: the fairy road only half an hour west of Starecross, and suggests that they may look for him if he is not retuned in the course of a month.

The rain seems to have gotten worse by the time Childermass leaves the Hall and heads for the stables, but it is a welcome sensation. His coat is shortly completely wet, and the heavy wool feels oddly comforting against his skin, a strong physical sensation to keep his mind occupied. A full minute where he simply thinks about the miserable weather, about the wet and itchy feeling of the coat and of faerie. A full minute where he does not think about John Segundus. And then he is looking at John Segundus, who is standing by the stables, wearing a heavy coat and holding his horse by the reins. Somehow Mr Segundus has managed to reach the stables and ready his horse without Childermass even noticing that he had left the hall. Somehow, Mr Segundus must think that he is going with Childermass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how is this chapter 10 this story has just started is it because my chapters are so short because I AM IMPATIENT (and prefer reading many short chapters because I don't know what an "attention span" even is).


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm scared of hurting these boys so I'm posting these short, short chapters now.

John Segundus knew he was not being very sensible, and he knew he should just wait until Childermass came back. He absolutely despised the rain and knew he would feel much better if he stayed at Starecross and had a cup of tea and perhaps a couple of hours of rest. His body still reacted rather strongly to magic, and he had always been sensitive to cold weather. Mr Segundus had already made his choice, in fact, he had made it the second Childermass had announced that he was going to the fairy road. He loathed being sensitive and sensible and he was craving something else. That might be simply being wherever Childermass was, or telling him what his heart wanted him to say, or watching him leave. He might follow him. He might stop him from leaving.

“No!” Childermass shouts, before he has even reached the stables, his voice barely audible in the heavy rain. As he draws closer, Mr Segundus notices the stern look on his face, jaws clenched and his eyes dark.

“It is my own choice.” he says as Childermass walks past him, into the stables.

He tries to listen as Childermass readies his horse, but all he hears is the rain. Are horses used to this kind of weather? Will they catch colds? His knowledge of horses is very limited, but he is fairly certain Childermass would not go on horseback if it was dangerous for the horses in any way.

“Mr Segundus.” Childermass finally reappears, already seated upon his horse, his face turned away, looking out over the moor.

“Yes?”

“Would it be possible for me to convince you to stay here?”

“No.”

“You cannot go onto the road with me. You will not hinder me, and you will take the horses back.”

Mr Segundus simply nods, feelings of dread and thrill swirling inside of him. He somehow knows that this cannot possibly end well, though he does not know why, and it somehow feels as though this is precisely what he is supposed to be doing. Riding across the moors with John Childermass.

* * *

Childermass keeps a steady pace ahead of him, occasionally turning his head to see that he is still there, following him in the rain. Only a few hours have passed since they had finished their breakfasts and gone to the library, but it feels like days. Weeks. How can it only have been a few hours since he had fallen in love with John Childermass when he cannot remember what it was like to not be in love with him? What had he seen at breakfast that morning, when he had looked at Childermass? Surely the person he had seen then could not have been that different from the person in the library, or the person in front of him now? His sleeves had been rolled up. Mr Segundus remembers that now, and it is the thought of Childermass’ arms that stay in his mind for the remainder of the ride.

They tie their horses to a large tree, giving them a bit of shelter from the rain. It is a most ordinary copse of trees, a couple of dozen birches and rowans stand tall, but they have grown in the strong winds of this moor, giving them a fragile and crooked look. It already looks like something out of faerie, Mr Segundus thinks. He watches quietly as Childermass performs the magic to create a door between two trees. The rain looks the same, but the space behind the rain looks darker. He moves a bit closer, and sees distinct shapes behind the rain. Trees, only these look older.

“Remarkable.” Mr Segundus whispers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adventures in faerie?!!

“Well, sir, you have seen what you came to see.”

“But there was… I wanted to speak to you before you leave!”

“It can wait, these doors only stay open for a short time.”

Mr Segundus opens his mouth to protest, but suddenly things seem to be happening very fast. Something is moving in the world behind the rain, Childermass is moving towards the door and a terrible feeling is taking hold of Mr Segundus’ entire body.

“Childermass!” he shouts, but the other man is already moving through the door. It seems to be a day where Mr Segundus no longer cares for what is sensible. If he had been sensible, he would have stayed at Starecross with a cup of tea. He would have stayed away from books he could not read. He would have fallen for a nice girl from the village, someone who liked him back. He would absolutely not run through a door made of rain to another world where he knew there were dangers. He would absolutely not have fallen for a man who could hardly stand to be near him, who would interrupt him and constantly run off without explanations. He would not feel as though he would do anything to keep this man safe.

So Mr Segundus throws himself at the door, worried that he might be too late, worried that the door will close and most of all worried that Childermass will be gone. The ground is soft, covered in thick moss and the sensible part of Mr Segundus is telling him that he got lucky, he could have landed on a rock. The rain has stopped, but there is a chill in the air that seems different from the wet autumn chill of England. It seems to be night, though it is difficult to know in the shades of the large trees. The dim light shining through the canopies is tinted green, perhaps the moon is green. Perhaps there is no moon, and this is their sun? Can faerie be so different?

“Mr Segundus.”

“Oh.”

“Mr Segundus! Are you hurt?”

He is not sure if Childermass sounds more cross or concerned.

“No. No, I think… moss. Oh, Mr Childermass! We must leave!” Suddenly remembering the dark shape he had seen through the rain, Mr Segundus pushes himself up from the ground. He feels a bit unsteady as he stands up, he is not sure if it is a normal effect of being a human in faerie, or if it is because he is sensitive to magic.

“Yes, you must.”

“And you are coming with me, Childermass. There was something- I saw something as you walked through and I am sure it was something sinister.”

“Are you sure you are unharmed? You look pale.”

“Please, John. I’m sorry, I never meant to come here but-”

* * *

Childermass feels it before he sees it, a warm sensation brushing past his legs, like a cat or a dog, but faster and less… substantial. It is nothing more than a shape, but Mr Segundus had been right in thinking that it was sinister. Whatever it is, it’s neither human nor fairy. It looks like a shadow, only there is nothing there to cast a shadow and it’s warm. He puts his hand in his coat pocket and clutches the iron knife he borrowed from the Starecross cellar, but will iron work against a shadow? He moves quickly, taking hold of Mr Segundus’ arm and pulling him towards the door. The warm feeling of the shadow moves past him again, somewhere along his back. He sees the grey light of England and pushes Mr Segundus through before walking after him and immediately closing the door.

They are back in the rain, Childermass looks around quickly to make sure the dark shape had not escaped with them, and then lets his attention fall on Mr Segundus once more. He looks unharmed, but his skin looks paler than usual and he appears to be shivering.

“Come.” Childermass says, taking hold of Mr Segundus arm once more and slowly leading him back to the tree where the horses are waiting.

“Why are you holding my arm, Childermass?”

“Because you look as though you might faint, can you ride?”

“I’m sure I only need a few moments. It must have been the magic.”

When Childermass lets go of his arm, Mr Segundus slumps against the trunk of the tree, holding on to the rough bark with his arms. His lips have turned even paler, and the light pink colour looks more blue. Childermass had seen Mr Segundus affected by magic before, and he had never gotten this bad from such brief exposure. He shrugs off his coat and somehow manages to pry Mr Segundus’ arm from the tree and puts the heavy wool on him. It’s far too large, and as wet as his own, but the inside is fairly dry and should give him some warmth. It cannot only be the magic.

“Mr Segundus, you do not look well.”

“I was going to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“Only I cannot remember. I was so sure it was important but I think I would have remembered it if it were important. Do you feel strange?”

“No, Mr Segundus. I think I should lead you back, I will walk and come back for your horse.”

“I would walk, Childermass. I would absolutely walk but I am not sure that these are my feet.”

“Sir?”

“Did I leave them in- OH!” Mr Segundus’ eyes widen as he gasps, and before Childermass can reach him, he is on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. listen! I feel so bad. I knew this was going to happen because I wrote this draft months ago but I AM STILL HORRIFIED. scared of posting and scared to keep writing.
> 
> petition to give the Johns some sunshine and kittens?!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Segundus is still cold. John Childermass is still worried. Jonathan Strange is still just trying to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely sure I'm posting this a week after the last chapter?  
> right? only a week?

As he watches his friend lay on the ground, the world seems to become smaller. Childermass is sure this has happened before; a large tree hovering over a lifeless body. He knows he should be doing something, anything, to make it right again but his body is refusing to move. It could simply be another fainting spell. Mr Segundus has been prone to them, and he had been performing magic this morning, perhaps venturing to another world had been too much for him? Perhaps it is something worse. Childermass’ mind is flooded with memories, he tries to keep them away because he knows he needs to do something but his hands are shaking and he feels so very small and he is sure there is no life left. 

Everything is sharp and painful, like fresh wounds and a pale winter sun breaking through months of greyness and ice on bare skin. His hands are shaking as he reaches down to touch the body, he has to know, even though he knows there is no possible way there is any life left. Weeks have passed, if not more. His once-soft skin is cold and stiff and there really is no life left. He wants to go with him, he wants to tell him how much he hates him for this, he wants to tell him how sorry he is and he wants to tell him he has changed his mind because nothing matters more than him but it’s too late because he is alone with the cold body of the man he loves and he makes a promise to him, to his master and to himself that he will never love again. 

There is guilt and sorrow and anger and he is sure it has not been raining for days, but then why are his cheeks so wet? There is a place upon a hill where the rain seems to be never-ending and he cannot remember why he has been going to that hill for years. He is cold, but not as cold as the body in his arms and he has known this before. He has seen people become cold bodies void of life before, and he has known why there has suddenly been no life left in them. How one can love and hate someone so much, he might never understand. I owe you my life and you have taken everything, Childermass silently screams through the rain to a somebody that only seems to hear him when it pleases them. He feels weak and useless, he feels hollow but also as though he is feeling far too many emotions. The body before him is cold and lifeless, but it looks older.

Childermass looks down at the face of John Segundus and remembers that it is twenty years later. That he has fallen in love again, and that the person laying on the ground is not the boy he loved decades ago. Childermass kneels down next to him and puts a trembling hand on Mr Segundus chest. It is cold and wet, but rising and falling and still full of life and Childermass remembers how to move and how to take control of situations and so he fetches the horses and brings John Segundus back to Starecross. To warmth and to help. 

They make it back to Starecross, though Childermass would not be able to tell anyone how they had gotten back. It felt as though they had left mere minutes ago. He pounds his fist against the door and and he hears the sound of heavy boots and of the door opening. Childermass is vaguely aware of saying something about how Mr Segundus is ill. He is sure questions are being asked. He watches as two men lift the pale body down from the horse’s back and into the building. A hand is on his arm and he is being ushered inside, to the sitting room. A woollen blanket is draped across his shoulders and he is pushed into the soft chair closest to the fire. He has only the vaguest of memories of the journey back to Starecross. He knows the rain never let up, he knows Mr Segundus did not wake up and he knows that the ache in his chest is unlike anything he has felt in twenty years. 

“There should be some hot tea soon, I told them to see to Mr Segundus first.”

“Good.”

“There was no fire in your room. William told me.”

“No.”

“Are you hurt, Childermass?”

“No.”

Childermass hears Jonathan Strange let out a sigh, though whether it is a sigh of relief or exasperation, he does not know. He would turn around and speak if he thought he could move. He would tell him what he could remember and he would ask him to employ certain kinds of magic, to go to the library, to ask William to prepare some very specific herbal teas. He would, but his mind feels slow and thick and the names of herbs, books and spells seem to be lost in a whirlpool of rain and shadows. 

“Childermass. Can you tell me what happened?”

“No.”

Another sigh. Childermass is vaguely aware of the sound of a chair being dragged across the wooden floor and movement in the corner of his eye. These sensations are mixed with the heat from the fire and the rain that still seems to be falling down in front of him. And the memory of a small shadow. He feels both full of emotions and completely empty. 

“I cannot help him if you do not tell me. Surely you must understand this?”

Mr Strange is sitting next to him now, and is speaking very slowly, stretching each word as far as it can go, as though it would make it easier for Childermass to answer him. As though the only thing keeping him from explaining is the way Mr Strange phrases his questions.

“Childermass, please.”

Childermass flinches when a warm hand touches his chin. The hand must be Mr Strange’s, he thinks as it gently presses his head to the side until he is facing the other man. 

“This is for him, do you understand? If something is wrong, we need to help him.”

He would have explained everything already if only he could. The words are flying through his mind like birds that have been stirred from their branches, and he has to struggle to catch them and form them into coherent sentences, even in his mind. He knows he needs to speak, he knows he needs to act and he knows he needs to open his mouth. His own concern is reflected back at him through Mr Strange’s eyes, and somehow that makes it worse. He speaks.

“He fell. He said his feet were - he thought he’d lost his feet and then he fell. He was cold and I took him back. That’s all.”

“He thought he had lost his feet? That is odd.” Mr Strange moves his hand from Childermass’ cheek and to the back of his own neck. “But before that, did you find a door?”

“He could die.”

“Childermass!”

“He might die and it will be my fault.” Hollow laughter spills from his chest, the thought of losing something that was never even his to loose is bewildering. “It never even occurred to me that he might get hurt without even knowing. I never told him so I don’t understand why he needs to die.”

“Mr Segundus is not going to die. Childermass, we are magicians, if it cannot be cured by medicine, surely we can find some other way?”

“He has done nothing to deserve it. Mr Strange, he didn’t do anything. We didn’t do anything!”

A clinking sound is heard behind them, and Childermass turns his head to see William setting a tray of tea on the small table next to the window. 

“Did you see him?” Mr Strange asks.

“He seems to be sleeping, sir.” William replies and begins pouring the tea.

Childermass pushes the blanket from his shoulders and starts pushing himself up from the chair, but Mr Strange’s hand is there before he can even stand up. He does not have the strength to argue.

“No. You stay here and get warmed up.”

Childermass watches as Mr Strange leaves the room and heads for the stairs. William brings the cup f tea to Childermass, who accepts it with trembling hands. He feels weak. Useless and weak. Had he always been this soft?

“Is there anything else, sir?”

“No, no. Thank you, William.”

Time passes, the tea grows cold and Childermass feels hollowed out. There have been too many emotions in too short a time. Mr Strange returns and Childermass stands up quickly.

“He is sleeping.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Childermass, we are capable of telling the difference between a sleeping person and a corpse. He looks better. Healthier.” The tone of sarcasm in Mr Strange’s voice is a relief, he would never speak this way if things truly weren’t better. 

“William is fetching a spare mattress for you. Arabella is with him now.” Childermass furrows his brow, and Mr Strange rolls his eyes at him. “Oh, come now, if not you, somebody else will stay with him, but I do think I’m correct in assuming you will be there?” 

“Thank you.”

Mr Strange finally gives Childermass permission to leave the fire, and so heads to his own room to change into dry clothes and to fetch a couple of books. When he enters Mr Segundus’ room, he is met by Mrs Strange, who gets up from the chair by Mr Segundus’ bedside and asks him if there is anything she can do, before leaving and quietly closing the door.

The fire is burning bright, and a fresh candle is lit upon the desk. It feels too cheerful.  
Childermass places his books on the desk and walks over to the bed. He looks at John Segundus for longer than would be appropriate, were he awake. But he really does seem to be sleeping. Childermass brushes his fingers against a cheek, noting that his skin feels a lot warmer. He walks back the desk. Sits down in the chair, opens a book and places it across his lap. He watches as the shadows dance across John Segundus face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- hi, sorry about this.  
> \- I've had problems with this chapter most of all, but also writing in general.  
> \- asdgdfhdsfjh there have been certain fics that have involved things that were so close to the things I had written but not posted? holy shit. are we all just one big melting pot of johnsquared h/c. yes we are and I love it.  
> \- also had to write some happier things because I really am being awful to these boys.  
> \- WEEPING I CAN'T BELIEVE I FINISHED THIS CHAPTER  
> \- oh and I've been writing the next three chapters while not writing this. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Segundus being sleepy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: blood and some harming of animals and a bit of horror and stuff.

It is a sleep unlike any sleep John Segundus has experienced before. At times it feels as though he might be waking up, because he can recall the dreams that have just played out in his mind. But then he is back in another dream and it is so vivid. He is sure days must be passing as he experiences dream after dream. In the short moments of wakefulness, he thinks he might still be asleep, because he cannot move, his body feels heavy and his mind cloudy, and he loses all sense of discernment and perhaps everything is a dream.

In one dream, he is so hungry that his he can feel his stomach growling, the sensation of hunger so vivid that he is unsure that he actually is dreaming. He finds himself in the kitchen full of cupboards and plates and bowls but he finds no food. In the very last cupboard he finds a loaf of bread, but he notices the mould just as he is about to put it in his mouth. He leaves the kitchen to look for other people. No one. He heads for the stables, he hears a low voice and finds Childermass and Brewer. He tells Childermass that he is hungry and asks if he has any food. He is ignored, and so he moves closer, stands next to Childermass as he brushes the horse. He is sure there is food there, he can smell it and it makes the blood in his veins rush rush rush. Childermass’ screams sound distant as John Segundus sinks his claws into Brewers’ thigh, tears a strip of flesh off and puts it in his mouth. The dream ends as he turns his attentions back to Childermass and to his fleshy thigh.

In another one, he is naked on the moors. The moon is full and he is shivering on a large dark piece of fabric. He is sure someone else is nearby but when he opens his mouth to speak his tongue turns to ice and shatters against his teeth. The melting water tastes of iron.

Not all of them are horrible. Some are soft and comforting: organizing the books in the library (though he cannot read the titles). Sitting on the floor with strong arms wrapped around his body, a heart thumping against his back. The garden, blooming and buzzing. Breakfast at Starecross, Mrs Honeyfoot’s bread and preserves. 

The dream in which he is in John Childermass’ bedchamber is particularly vivid. He is sure he is blushing in his sleep, and sincerely hoping that the sounds he is making are only in the dream.

One dream is full of dark feathers. Another of dark shapes. In one he is walking through Starecross, using his claws to carve symbols in the wood. A hand sliding up the oldest Miss Honeyfoot’s thigh.

He is sure he is awake but nothing feels real and he cannot remember ever feeling this small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see, I don't want to hurt these boys, I want to WRECK them.  
> sorry, it's only gonna get worse for a while.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all just a bit wrong.

Before it opens its eyes, it takes a few moments to marvel at the strangeness of having eyes. Eyelids to close and open and no way of looking backwards without turning its head. Precarious.

“Mr Segundus!” 

It is a very English voice. All emotions. Before it, there is a man, he looks filthy and unhealthy. There is a sharp and unpleasant smell about him. He is, however, very nicely shaped, and beneath the sharpness is a hint of magic and even further back is an echo of faerie.

“Sir, are you all right?”

The man moves closer, but hesitates before he is close enough to touch it. Mr Segundus. Sir. It is a strange name for a strange body. It cannot wait to start using this strange body. It opens its mouth and tries to speak, but nothing comes out. The man brings a glass of water to its lips and it swallows, coughs, splutters, and then breathes.

“I am.” it finally says.

The man puts the glass down, and takes a step back from the bed. Is the man afraid of this body? Does it carry some disease that it has not yet discovered? No. It is a perfectly healthy body, albeit somewhat malnourished and in dire need of some exercise. 

“I will fetch Mr Honeyfoot.”

“Do come back later, John.” 

The man looks surprised, if only for a brief moment, and nods before he leaves the room.

It quickly sits up and looks down. Body. Human body. Organs and flesh and blood. Strange. It has hair on its body, but not enough to keep it warm or hide the skin. Very strange. There are some veins visible and the nails on its toes are so short, how could it ever use them? It asks the body, but the body does not respond. Vexing. It asks again, less politely, and the body answers through echoes in its mind.

_John Segundus is sure he is still asleep because he does not have claws and he knows how to fasten a pair of breeches yet it seems as though his hands are very strange and he is sure he would not fondle himself in front of the mirror. Especially not in front of the mirror._

It looks at the body in the mirror. The clothes are uncomfortable, too tight in some places and not letting enough air touch the skin. It removes the top buttons of the shirt and raises a dark eyebrow, better, but it would have been more comfortable to just keep the loose-fitting long shirt on. It will just have to do, there is someone inside this body that does not want it to leave the room without these garments, so it will accept the itchy fabric. It controls each conscious action the body makes, but has allowed the breath and blood run its own course as it does not seem to be contradicting its will. John Segundus is barely aware of what is happening, his thoughts are a jumble in the body’s head and it mostly ignores them. The body responded to its arousal by sending blood rushing to the sexual organ, which is now uncomfortably hard and pressing against the rough fabric covering its lower body. It wonders if it would appear strange if John Segundus left the room with an erection. Christians were often fickle about these things, were they not? It asks the blood to ignore the arousal for now. It does feel less uncomfortable now, it concludes, taking one last look in the mirror before leaving the room.

It opens the door and is met by an older man with a round face and a pair of spectacles resting upon his nose. It had forgotten about ageing. John Segundus has a bit of grey in his hair, but this man has nothing but white hair. And it appears to be thinning. The man smells of sweat, apples and decay. Appalling.

“Mr Segundus!”

“Mr Honeyfoot.” it replies, learning the name as it escapes through its lips. Mr Honeyfoot lunges forward and wraps his arms around the body of John Segundus. It is a friendly sort of embrace, being this close to him, it can hear the blood slowly pulsing through the other man’s arteries. It licks it lips, and Mr Honeyfoot pulls away.

“My apologies, sir. I am just so relieved to see you out of bed, and dressed! I only got back a little while ago, Childermass found me just as I was refreshing myself after the journey. I went home and fetched Anne, she knows some nursing and I thought she might help us but it seems you no longer need any help! Oh, Mr Segundus, how glad I am!”

It thinks this man talks too much, is too old and far too fatigued to give it any joy.

“I am well, thank you.”

It steps away from the door and closes it behind them, taking a step down the long hallway. 

“Will you tell me what happened? You must be hungry, shall I ask William to prepare something? Tea? Perhaps some toast?” Mr Honeyfoot is speaking rapidly and walking down the hall, one step ahead of it.

“Mr Honeyfoot.” It places a hand on a shoulder and looks the old man in the eyes. His eyes widen, and it relishes in seeing the familiar fear in the formerly calm human’s eyes. “Perhaps you should rest. I am absolutely fine and you seem weary from your journey.” Mr Honeyfoot nods slowly, turns around and walks back down the hallway and through a door.

It waits until it hears the door close before it continues toward the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.  
> at least I was nice to Mr Honeyfoot?


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan Strange finds Mr Segundus, who seems to be very busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry. 
> 
> tw/cw: weird sexual? situations? sort of dubcon?!   
> if those things are triggering, pls don't read this & the next chapter (you can ask me if you're not sure?)  
> and I could just give you the shortened version or something.

Jonathan Strange is looking for Miss Honeyfoot, he is sure she will know where Mr Segundus is, and that one of them will know when the tea will be served. He hears her voice as he nears the dining hall. Loud and distressed.

“Sir! Sir, I pray, not here! I cannot-”

They are in the standing by the wall opposite him, against a window and Jonathan Strange is not sure if he is really seeing what he thinks he is seeing. Surely he cannot be seeing this.

“Miss Honeyfoot? Is everything alright?” he finally says, with the hope that the illusion will disappear if he disturbs it. It does not. The figure standing in front of her takes a step back, allowing Miss Honeyfoot to slide off of the window sill and pull her skirts down. Her skirts which had been pulled up and exposing her bare legs. Her legs that had been spread with a person standing between them. 

“We’ll finish this conversation later, Anne.” 

Hearing the person speak makes the hairs on Jonathan Strange’s neck stand up. He thought it was, but he had hoped it was not but now there is no doubt of it and he wonders what else has been going on in Starecross that he has missed. Mr Segundus places a kiss on Miss Honeyfoot’s pink cheek and watches as she leaves the dining hall through the other door. Perhaps they have been doing this for a long time, perhaps Jonathan has been too busy to notice. However, he still cannot quite believe that Mr Segundus would not try to keep such a thing more private.

“Hello, Mr Strange.” Mr Segundus finally turns around and rolls down the sleeve of his shirt.

“What on earth are you doing?” 

“Just… talking. Did you know Anne is rather fond of me?” 

Mr Segundus stands in front of him, a smile in the corner of his lips. His hair is combed back and he smells a bit like a ladies’ perfume, flowery and sweet with a hint of something musky. He had not known that Anne was fond of Mr Segundus, as that would be gossip, something Jonathan Strange took great care to avoid, both out of respect of others and out of disinterest. Surely he would have remembered if anyone had told him this? And then he thinks of Childermass, who has admitted to being fond of Mr Segundus. He thinks of his miserable confession and the look on his face when he had brought Mr Segundus back the night before. This would cause him great pain. 

“Does Mr Honeyfoot know about this?” He finally asks, not knowing what else to say, but feeling as though he needs to say something to his friend. 

“Why on earth would he know? She only just told me!” 

Mr Segundus’ words are sharp and underlined by some amusement, and Jonathan Strange cannot remember ever feeling this uncomfortable in the presence of John Segundus. Perhaps he hit his head when he fainted?

“Mr Segundus! While I do understand these… well, I understand lust. And I understand lusting for someone before you are wed, but this is highly inappropriate!”

“Wed?” A short laugh escapes from Mr Segundus’ lips, “do you think I mean to marry that child?” He then fixates Jonathan Strange with his dark eyes and raises an eyebrow. “I do not see how this is any business of yours, Mr Strange.” Mr Segundus moves past him and closes the heavy door separating the dining room from the grand staircase and leans against the dark wood.

While Mr Strange is worried, he finds it somewhat comforting that John Segundus closes the door – at least he understands the need for privacy when discussing these matters. Perhaps he had only been acting rashly because of his lust? Jonathan Strange knows that feeling, and thinks he might begin to understand Mr Segundus. He places a hand on his friend’s shoulder, to show him that he cares.

“Oh, John. I am only concerned. It wouldn’t do to have Anne Honeyfoot upset with you, think of poor Mr Honeyfoot! He is your friend! What would he say if he knew you had been-”

“But he need not know, does he, Mr Strange?” 

“Then I appeal to you as a friend. Please think of the consequences of your actions.”

“Perhaps you are jealous, Jonathan?”  
“Mr Segundus! You know very well that I am happily married-” he furrows his brow and loses his train of tought when Mr Segundus leans his head against the hand on his shoulder. Odd. He moves his cheek over Jonathan Strange’s hand slowly, reminding him of how a cat might rub your leg when it wants attention. He clears his throat and continues, “well, besides, I have never harboured any feelings other than respect and friendship towards miss Honeyfoot-” 

“My dear Jonathan! You misunderstand me!” John Segundus lifts his head again, stands up straight and locks his eyes with Jonathan Strange’s one last time before opening the door. “Jealous of her, Mr Strange!” he whispers as he leaves the room. 

Jonathan Strange stands still for a long time. Trying to understand what just happened, trying to piece everything together and trying to move his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY BABY SEGUNDUS YOU DO NOT DESERVE THIS.  
> D:
> 
> don't worry, it gets worse.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Segundus (?) finds John Childermass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> same cw/tw as the last chapter. it's pretty non-con so please don't read this if those things can be triggering for you.

It finds John Childermass outside. There is a small garden in front of the building, the plants are withered but it knows they are not dead. It seems as though John Childermass knows that too, and that is highly intriguing. He is crouched down on the ground, his feet flat on the ground with his legs bent. His hands are cupping a flower while he whispers some nonsense to it. Surely he does not speak their language? It walks closer and listens. John Childermass is asking the dying plant to keep them safe. Keep who safe? Keep Starecross safe? Keep the body, which is now leaning over John Childermass, safe? 

It has no difficulty getting John Childermass down onto the ground from his squatting position. It turns him around so that his back is against the ground, and the body seems to enjoy climbing onto him. John Childermass’ eyes are all wide and confused and it wonders if he understands what is happening or not. It binds John Childermass’ arms to the ground and leans down. Drags its tongue along his jaw and tastes sweat and magic. It is a very different taste from Anne. “John...” it whispers in the voice that belongs to John Segundus.

It happens so quickly. Only when he is on the ground, with John Segundus on top of him, does he understand what has happened. He watches as that familiar smile spreads on Mr Segundus’ face. The same smile he had seen yesterday morning, the smile that made his heart ache and his body warm. It is, however, not accompanied by the kindness in his eyes that has always been so characteristic of Mr Segundus. He thinks he might be dreaming. He feels his hands being pushed into the wet grass, but Mr Segundus’ cannot be the one doing it because his hands are occupied, moving down the sides of his body. It is very likely that this is a dream, because John Segundus is on top of him, touching him and there are hands that should not be there.

“Mr Segundus? What...” His words are swallowed by a gasp because suddenly John Segundus is leaning over him and John Segundus’ tongue is on his skin and it feels wrong to question it. He tries to reach up and touch him, to touch any part of John Segundus because it is the thing he wants more than anything but he cannot move his arms. “John.” Hearing John Segundus whisper his name makes every hair on his body stand up and it makes something inside of him hope. It must be a dream. He shifts around and lifts his hips from the ground, ever so slightly, just enough to feel the other man’s body against his own. A soft moan escapes from John Segundus’ lips, he leans down and presses his entire body against Childermass. He feels John Segundus’ erection against his own and he is so pleased that he has allowed himself to dream about John Segundus again. It feels wonderfully real and he wonders if he should move them to a bed or just do it outdoors.

“Please, Mr Childermass. Will you take me?” 

Childermass has not slept, he has barely eaten and he has just lived through one of the worst days of his life. Perhaps that is why he has forgotten that he always knows whether he is dreaming or not. He should be able to make things happen. He feels John Segundus’ cold breath against his ear and something inside him seems to wake up. He should be able to move his hands, to touch John Segundus’ face and so this cannot be a dream. And if it is not a dream, John Segundus eyes should be his own eyes and there should not be invisible hands holding him down. John Segundus should not even be here, on top of him. He is sure he holds his breath for a full minute. The body on top of him feels heavier and colder. Like wet snow. He wonders if he will ever be able to forgive himself.

“I was hoping you might bugger him before you realized.” the voice emerging from Mr Segundus’ mouth is no longer the voice Childermass knows. It is somehow both lighter and darker, younger and older. Childermass feels ill. He feels very ill and very foolish and somehow more worried about John Segundus than himself. The body on top of him sits back up, and looks down at him with the face of John Segundus. But it is not him. 

“Who are you?” Childermass finally manages to ask, trying to keep his voice steady while his body is trembling.

The smile returns to John Segundus’ face.

“I can’t believe it took you this long! All of you. I know rocks that are more clever than you lot.”

Childermass thinks that he will surely be sick. He keeps waiting for his thoughts to fall back in order, for his arms to start working and for his erection to go down. He needs to help Mr Segundus. The person, or being, wearing his face is gently rocking its hips against Childermass and he will most likely never forgive himself. He just hopes John Segundus will never know about this. He has already failed him.

“Is he-” Childermass voice breaks and maybe he should refrain from asking, but he needs to know so he tries again.“Is he alive?”

A glimpse of John Segundus’ smile appears on the face above him, followed by cold laughter.  
“Of course he is! He is just preoccupied. He was just so easy to slip into.” the body of John Segundus licks its lips.

“Who are you?” 

“Just a visitor.”

“Please don’t harm him.”

“Perhaps you should be worried about the harm I will inflict upon you. He will last a lot longer than you, John.” The Visitor, for this is what Childermass decides to call it, places its hands on Childermass’ face. He is sure this is John Segundus’ body, because he knows those hands.One hand caresses his cheek, the other is somewhere above hisear, and it feels as though its fingers are burrowing into his head. There is pain, and then there is nothing. For a blissful second, his mind feels completely hollow and Childermass loses everything but his desire to stay like this forever. But it is gone far too soon, and reality is back and he sees John Segundus mouth form into a wide grin, a face John Segundus would never make. It helps. 

“Your magic is not as interesting as I thought, John Childermass. You’re nothing more than a servant, are you?”

Childermass is grateful that there are all these small things there to remind him that this is not, in fact, John Segundus. The Visitor’s hands are back on his chest and it is moving its hips again, slowly and softly pressing down on him. Childermass wants the thing to kill him now. He will never forgive himself because it is John Segundus’ body and he is enjoying it and he prays to the sky, to his king, to the grass underneath him that John Segundus cannot feel how much he is enjoying it.

“But your experiences! Sailors and gentlemen and even one of the fair folk!” the Visitor keeps talking as he moves on top of him, telling him things about his life that he never told anyone. Telling him things that he had not known.

“Oh, but you are usually the one who binds men’s hands. Does this… John Segundus know this? Have you asked him if you can tie him up yet? Make him weep?”

Childermass tries to ignore the voice. He tries to ignore all sensations but the discomfort, he stays quiet and still and he shuts his eyes. The cold voice that resembles John Segundus’ voice keeps speaking. The Visitor shifts ever so slightly, and places both hands upon Childermass’ chest again. With its nails (not John Segundus’ nails, for he usually keeps his nails very short) it rips through the fabric of Childermass’ shirt. He feels something sharp graze his skin and he is sure it had been the claws of some beast. The Visitor is moving John Segundus’ hands down his chest and Childermass tries and fails to suppress a moan. But then he hears the most wonderful of sounds. The large wooden doors of Starecross Hall opens. He opens his eyes again and he hears footsteps. 

“They are very nice bodies.” The Visitor raises one of Segundus’ eyebrows. “What would you like to do to it?”

Childermass watches with horror as John Segundus’ hands reach his breeches and fumbles with the buttons. Because he knows help is near, because he knows he has to stop this before it is too late for the both of them, he protests.

“Please. Don’t.”

The Visitor lets out another cold laugh, tears a button off with its nails and puts it in John Segundus’ waistcoat pocket. Before it gets to the second button, Jonathan Strange and William are there, pushing The Visitor off. William holds John Segundus’ body down while Jonathan Strange brings a piece of cloth to John Segundus’ face. After a few moments, he stops struggling. 

Childermass realizes he is shaking. Mr Strange asks him how he is, if he is hurt and what has happened.

“Just get him inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS IS AWFUL KITTENS AND CUDDLES AND ICE CREAM FOR THE BOYS PLEASE.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> is anybody happy? no.  
> will somebody be happy sooner or later? YES!

Once the body of John Segundus is secured with ropes and strips of cloth, in a, hopefully peaceful, Laudanum-induced sleep, Jonathan Strange ushers the servants out of the room, and turns to Childermass who is staring out the window. He has stayed quiet since Jonathan found them in the garden, not surprising considering how he found them, but Jonathan is somewhat worried that he will return to the melancholy state he had been in the day before. Rambling about death and barely moving. However, as soon as the door is closed, Childermass rouses himself. He places a hand on Mr Segundus’ forehead, and then proceeds to tug at the ropes wrapped around Mr Segundus’ arms and legs. He huffs, and begins untying the ropes.

“Childermass! What on earth do you-”

“These knots are useless. Give me but a minute.”

Jonathan watches as Childermass’ fingers quickly remove the ropes and then expertly twist and turn the ropes into new knots around Mr Segundus’ wrists.

“It claims to be a Visitor, Mr Strange. It seized hold on him when he followed me upon the road. He warned me, and I saw it, and yet… I thought all was fine.”

“Childermass-”

“Mr Segundus is still there, Mr Strange. Though we cannot hear him, and though his actions are not his own, he is still there and we can make this right.”

It is a relief to see Childermass acting more like himself – taking action, planning, telling Jonathan what to do and what spells that are to be employed. Jonathan will perform the Unrobed Ladies, a magic to bind the fairy’s power. Childermass will employ Pale’s Restoration and Rectification. They will need to find the flower in question, and they will need to find two pieces of metal to form into a cross. Jonathan suggests that Childermass does just that, while he speaks to the rest of the house. 

“And why cannot I speak with them?” 

“Because your mind is too occupied right now, Childermass.” Jonathan answers, and Childermass simply nods in agreement before leaving the room.

Jonathan Strange finds Mr Honeyfoot, Miss Honeyfoot and William in the kitchen, with the rest of the small staff of Starecross. Miss Honeyfoot looks pale, and her eyes are red. Mr Honeyfoot has a confused look upon his face. And William... poor William! He looks absolutely terrified, and may even be paler than young Miss Honeyfoot. 

“Well!” Jonathan begins, simply to avoid questions, simply to show them that he is, in fact, here to tell them something. “It seems Mr Segundus has been… possessed.” 

Gasps and murmurs are heard, interspersed with an “Oh dear, oh no!” from Mr Honeyfoot and a cry of fear from the scullery maid.

“We are going to remove… the problem. Mr Childermass and I. We will get to it as soon as he returns, I only thought I should inform you of this. Alas, I do not know any more specifics, only that he is still alive and that we will try to save him.”

Jonathan waits for the questions, but is met with silence. Mr Honeyfoot has put his arm around his daughter, who seems to be weeping yet again. It is William who finally speaks. “Is there anything we can do, sir?”

“Oh, no! Thank you William.”

The door to the kitchen opens, and John Childermass rushes inside. He does not seem to notice the crowd there, and simply walks around them to make his way to the drawer where the silver is. He pulls two pieces out and then heads toward the stairs again.

“Mr Strange! Now, if you please!” 

When they reach Mr Segundus’ bedroom again, they both make their way to the bed immediately, just to see that he is still there, still breathing. Still sleeping. Reassured, Childermass hands Jonathan the flower, which should probably be dead by now. It still has its seven light blue petals folded over the brownish middle part, looking very much alive. Jonathan knows the spell, it was one of the first he and Mr Norrell had tried in the Darkness, but without a target, it was difficult to know whether it had worked or not. 

This time, it is quite clear that he is doing magic. There is the feeling of a light caress of his neck, and there is the goose pimples on his arms. A feeling as though he is short of breath even though he is not, as though he is wrapped in a passionate embrace though he is not. When he removes the last petal, it feels like a tree taking root. He had not known that sensation before, but he knows it means that the magic has worked. The creature in John Segundus’ body cannot harm them.

Now it is Childermass’ turn. He ties the two silver knives into a cross with a strip of black cloth, and then performs the spell with his eyes closed. It feels different than Jonathan’s own magic, a bit wrong, a bit rougher, but also very powerful. He cannot, however, see whether or not the thing that is supposed to happen is actually happening. Seconds or minutes pass, the magic in the room is thick and syrupy and dulls Jonathan's senses. It is not an entirely unpleasant feeling, warm and heavy and tingly. Then it stops.

“It is gone.” Childermass says, and in the same breath, he drops both the key and his body to the floor. He has gone pale again, and Jonathan wonders if he has been sleeping at all.

“You are certain of this?”

“Mr Strange. I added an epitome, it was to specifically remove the creature I saw behind the door. I did. I saw it. It is gone.”

Jonathan moves to the other side of the bed, where Childermass is sitting on the floor. He slumps down next to him, only now realizing that he, too, is very tired.

“What do we do now?” he asks quietly.

“If anyone’s awake, you tell them. I will stay.”

“Childermass, you must rest.” Jonathan knows his words are meaningless, he knows that _he_ would not have rested if he had not known that Childermass would be there. But he has seen the distress, it has been as though Childermass has been in mourning over Mr Segundus. “Would you at least sit in a chair by the fire, or better yet, upon the mattress?” 

Childermass rolls his eyes, but takes Jonathan’s hand when he offers it. 

“He’ll be alright.” Childermass says after he is seated in front of the fire. but Jonathan suspects he is talking to himself, or possibly the fire, and not him.

“Shall I have William bring you something to eat?”

“Thank you.”

In the kitchen, everyone is thrilled to hear that the magic has been successful. Charles (William had been sent to bed, for he was still shocked over the events) prepares some tea and bread for Childermass, the rest of the staff heads off to bed and Mr Honeyfoot pulls Jonathan to the side.

“Mr Strange.” he says, his voice low and his face so concerned. “You must know, I am pleased that you and Mr Childermass have sorted this situation. I do not want you think that I for even a moment would not wish the best for Mr Segundus!” His face is rather red, his eyes big and glassy and Jonathan feels utterly foolish for not even thinking about it. He had seen it with his own eyes.

“Oh, Mr Honeyfoot. Please, I do not judge you for wanting to take your daughter home!”

“Thank you, thank you Mr Strange.” Mr Honeyfoot smiles, a smile so small that it might have been mistaken for a twitch of the lip.

“Was there something else?”

“Yes. I think I may need some time… While I do know it was not Mr Segundus’ doing, believe me, I know he would never do such a thing! However, I cannot seem to forget it. I do not think I could bear to see him right now." Mr Honeyfoot pulls a handkerchief from his jacket and dabs it across his face, wet with sweat and tears. "He is very dear to me, you must know this! But... you were there, were you not?" Jonathan nods, hoping he will not ask any questions. He is not sure how much Miss Honeyfoot has told her father, but he would rather not be the one to tell him the nature of their... meeting. "I cannot be near him for fear that I might strike him, Mr Strange! And yet I do not think I could look into his face for fear that it might break my heart!" Mr Honeyfoot says the last part rather loudly, and Jonathan thinks that perhaps it would be better if he and Miss Honeyfoot were to leave as soon as possible.

"We will send word of his progress. Take your time, my friend." 

When Charles comes back downstairs, Jonathan asks him for a bottle of port. He falls asleep at the table after two glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope nobody noticed that I changed the number of chapters :)))))))))))))))))


	19. Chapter 19

“Please, help!”  
  
Childermass wakes up, almost falling off the chair when he hears John Segundus' voice. He turns his head towards the bed, and sees John Segundus’ wide eyes staring at him. He is tugging against the restraints around his wrists and he looks so small. Helpless.  
  
“Childermass!” Segundus’ voice sounds odd, but it is his voice. “What is this?” The coldness from the visitor is gone, Segundus' voice is weak and hoarse and full of fear. Does he not remember? Childermass slowly gets up and walks over to the bed.  
  
“Why are my arms tied?” Segundus looks absolutely terrified. “Were you doing something to me?”  
  
“Mr Segundus.”  
“Something must have happened!”  
“You think I would hurt you?”  
  
Perhaps that would be better. Thinking Childermass had tied him up to hurt him. Somehow, he is sure Segundus would rather be hurt than hurting others.  
  
Mr Segundus opens his mouth to speak again, but all that comes out is a dry cough. Childermass is about to hand him a glass of water before he realizes that he is still tied up, and that he cannot even sit up to drink with his arms fastened to the bottom of the bed.  
  
“Sir.” Childermass hold the glass up to Mr Segundus’ lips while lifting his head with his other hand. Segundus gratefully drinks the water down and then slumps back down onto the pillow.  
  
“Please tell me.” his voice is smaller again, pleading.  
  
Childermass has not prepared himself for this. He has been too busy thinking about keeping John Segundus alive, and thinking about ways to comfort him when he wakes up and realizes what he has done. He has not prepared himself for this. He told John Segundus he would never lie to him.  
  
“Childermass!” cries Mr Segundus. “What has happened?”  
  
“Mr Segundus, please, calm down.”  
  
“Have I done something?” the fear on John Segundus' face is one of the most heartbreaking things Childermass has ever seen.  
  
“Nobody is hurt.”  
  
“What? What did I do?”  
  
“You did nothing, Mr Segundus.”  
  
“Then... Would you please come here? Come closer and look me in the eye and tell me the truth.”  
  
Childermass hesitates, he hesitates because he has promised he will not lie and because seeing John Segundus in such a state of despair is slowly shattering something inside his chest. He should have left Starecross a long time ago. He sits down by the edge of the bed, and instead of looking Segundus in the eyes, he busies himself with the ties around Segundus’ wrists. There are faint marks from the ropes and seeing them feels like another piece of his heart breaking off.  
  
“See, would I have done this if you had done anything bad?” he says softly, still avoiding Mr Segundus’ eyes.  
  
“No. No, I suppose not,” Segundus almost sounds like himself now, “will you please look at me?” when Childermass does not look at him, he continues, “Please, John...” and something clutches at Childermass’ chest, a fragment of warmth, upon hearing Segundus saying his name. He sees the movement in the corner of his eyes and then he feels Segundus’ hand brush against his cheek. 

Childermass’ breath hitches when he feels the smooth skin against his own, it feels unreal but also more real than anything that has happened in the last two days. He finally turns his gaze to the other man. Segundus has moved closer and with his hand on Childermass cheek, he gently puts his head on Childermass right shoulder. Carefully at first, barely touching, but then he can feel Segundus relaxing against him. Resting his lips against Childermass’ bare skin, just below his collarbone. Childermass’ heart is pounding in his ears and he is holding his breath. They have never been this close before. This is… intimate. He is afraid of moving, afraid that the moment will pass. He can feel Segundus’ breaths against his skin and it takes him a few moments to realize that the exhales are cold.  
  
“What...” he whispers, and then a searing pain shoots through his neck. He tries to pull away but John Segundus seems to be attached to him. Physically attached. He realizes that he is biting him.  
  
“STRANGE! CHA-” he manages to shout before a hand clasps over his mouth.  
  
“You taste so good… John.” the cold voice that is not John Segundus whispers. It pulls back from him and Childermass sees John Segundus’ tongue licking his lips, seemingly savouring the sweet red liquid that is smeared around his mouth.  
  
“I was going to wait but I am just so hungry.” It moves towards him again, Childermass tries to pull away but it is useless. He feels John Segundus’ mouth close around the wound and it is… sucking. He feels sick. The hand on his chest is moving in slow, soothing circles as the body of John Segundus drinks of his blood.  
  
Childermass lets it happen. He is so tired. He is tired of magic and of the other lands. He is tired of his own feelings and his own thoughts and his body and he is tired of trying to save other people and he is tired of trying to save himself. A hollowness fills his chest and his mind and he no longer cares what happens. He closes his eyes and waits for time to pass and claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this has been sitting in my drafts for a long time.   
> also I can't tell left from right, so you will have to imagine that the head-on-shoulder-thing makes sense   
> also... I... am going to post chapter 20 which will only be like 100 words asap.  
> why?  
> because pov.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think (I hope) this is the shortest chapter yet.

  
Charles can feel Jonathan Strange’s gaze on him as he fumbles with the keys, his hands are shaking and he seems to have forgotten how to breathe normally. He knew this was no ordinary household when he accepted the position, Mr Segundus had been sure he was well aware of all the circumstances that had led them there, and yet… yet these past few days had made him consider finding some other place of employment. It seemed as though some unnatural horror had settled in at Starecross Hall and he was no magician. He had no way of understanding or stopping what was happening. He was just the man who knew where the keys were.  
  
His shaking hands finally manage to slide the right key into the keyhole, and with a click it unlocks. He pushes the door open and freezes. He is not quite sure of what he is seeing. Mr Childermass is laying down on the bed, Mr Segundus is leaning over him, his face buried in his neck. Had things been normal here, he might have thought they had walked in on a private moment (which would have been horrifying in its own right). But if things had been normal, would they not have said something when they heard him fumbling with the lock? Mr Strange walks past him and utters a “damn!” before rushing to the bed and pushing Mr Segundus away from Mr Childermass. That is when Charles sees that the sheets and Mr Childermass are glistening with blood. He will find a new employer as soon as they can spare him.  
  
“Damn it! Charles!”  
He does what he has always done in situations that are queer, unfamiliar or dangerous. Charles must do his job, so he takes a deep breath and pretends to be someone else. He thinks of himself as a dashing hero, just like the other three men in the room, a brave and strong man who can save lives and who is not frightened of blood or unnatural things. Charles becomes brave, and so he follows Jonathan Strange’s instructions.  
  
He lifts Childermass off the bed and drags him to the desk. He ties his master’s wrist to the bed while Jonathan Strange is laying on top of him to keep him from moving. He still moves, but Charles still manages to tie both arms to the bed. Don’t listen to it, Mr Strange says. He does not listen to it, Charles’ only job is to follow Mr Strange’s instructions and so he ignores the words that are coming from his master’s mouth.  
  
“Help me get Childermass out!”  
  
Charles looks at his master. Struggling against the restraints, covered in blood, teeth sharp and voice cold.  
  
“Now!”  
  
Mr Strange and Charles carry Mr Childermass out of the room, they put him down and lean him against the wall. Charles locks the door and looks at Mr Strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know how this was already 30k when I started posting it almost a year ago?   
> Charles wasn't even in it back then and that's a shame. he is a good boy.
> 
> (honestly I'm throwing these out into the world so I can finish this and start new WIPs. I am shameless.)


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just chop chop chopping away at all these drafts.

What must be close to an hour passes as Jonathan does his best to stop the blood that is gushing from Childermass’ neck, to close the wound and to wash some of the blood away. Segundus (or the body of Segundus) had grown quiet during this, and Jonathan hoped it was the laudanum and nothing else. The floor is cold and Jonathan needs to sleep, the magic he has done has made him even more exhausted and he thinks Childermass must be even more tired. Jonathan is dragging a wet cloth down Childermass’ arm when he wakes up. He had expected a slow, confused stirring, but this is more like a man who just dreamt he was falling down a cliff.

“What did you do?” Childermass asks as he drags a hand over the place on his neck where there had been a deep wound before.

“Telio’s hand,” Jonathan answers, his voice quiet and cautious. So much time has passed and he is still wary of admitting that he has utilized magic that Norrell may not approve of.

“Telio’s hand does not make wounds disappear.”

“Well. I may have modified it. How are you feeling?”

Jonathan is surprised when Childermass lets out a short laugh. “I am well enough,” and as if to show Jonathan just how well enough he is, he pushes himself off the wall and stretches his limbs and neck and the look on his face shows more determination than worry now. Surely that must be a good thing?

”Sir, can you stay with him?”

Childermass begins to stand up then, and Jonathan can see the weariness in his bones as he winces. Hurrying to his feet, Jonathan offers his hand and pulls Childermass the rest of the way up.

”Childermass, you need rest. You cannot-”

”I am sure I will be quite safe, sir. All I need is for you to make sure that _he_ is safe.”

”I know you think _you_ have to do something but I do wish you would remember that I, too, am an accomplished magician.”

”I am aware.”

”So will you let me do… whatever it is you have planned?”

”No.”

Jonathan watches as Childermass and Brewer leave Starecross, and then sits down next to the bed in which John Segundus is resting. Tied up and unconscious. It does not seem right that he, John Segundus, of all people, should be the one suffering so. He trusts that Childermass will do whatever he can to make things right, but trust and faith are two entirely different concepts and Jonathan is not sure if there is anything in this world that can make John Segundus well again.

* * *

The sky is clear, yet the moon is dark and Childermass has to rely on his lantern when he makes his way to the stables. He has to coax Brewer outside, as though there is a storm and he wants to keep both himself and his master safe. But the rain has stopped and the wind is gentle, so Childermass leans close to his horse and whispers soft words into his ears. They leave Starecross, and are on the moors in mere minutes. Brewer is hesitant, but Childermass drives him on until any trace of the human world is gone and all that exists is the two of them, the dark sky and the smell of wet earth. Childermass sends Brewer home (and the horse takes off as though he is being chased by the Devil himself) and then listens as the sound of his hooves becomes more and more distant until all is quiet but the sounds of the wilderness. A wind is howling across the moors.

Childermass knows this place. He shrugs out of his coat, he rolls down his stocking and takes his shoes off and notices that his hands are shaking. The ground is still wet from the rain the other day and his feet are already cold and muddy. He takes a few steps away from his clothes, he quietly whispers his prayer and when his legs buckle he simply lets it happen. His knees land in the soft heather and Childermass is sure he has been here before.

He whispers the words again, and feels the sharp branches and the small buds of flowers under his fingers. He pulls, but he is weak and the roots are strong and he falls over. His mind, already lost in the mist of sleep depravation and blood loss and worry, shifts ever so slightly. He says the words out loud and his mind shifts into the wild. He feels the earth beneath his bare shins and feet and he feels the wind on his wet face. He smells the dirt and the dying plants and something else; mushrooms, animals, rot. He shouts the words and his mind grows still and dark.

_“Why must I help him?”_

_“Because it is not right, he will die if that thing stays in him!”_

The morning dew has seeped through his breeches and he is shivering as he awakens on the ground. He is confused, covered in dirt and there are scratches on his hands and something feels different. There is an ache in his chest and a soft buzzing in the back of his head and he only has a vague memory of leaving Starecross the night before. He realises his feet are bare.


	22. Chapter 22

John Segundus opens his eyes and sees Childermass, seated in his chair by his desk. He wonders why Childermass is in his room, but dreams do not always make sense and he would, in fact, like it if John Childermass was in his room.

He blinks and suddenly it is dark and cold and someone is screaming.

Now he is looking at Childermass, sitting in his own bed. He has a book in his lap, but it is turned over and Childermass is looking around the room, as though he is looking for something. Me. Me. Me. Segundus tries to tell him, to talk to him, but Childermass doesn’t seem to hear him.

Something inside of him seems to catch fire. It is wonderful and painful and strange all at once. It reminds him of accidentally tying his neckcloth a bit too tight or running until his chest hurts or perhaps it’s magic.

He is looking up at the dark night sky, breathing heavily and shivering in the cold. Someone is next to him, whispering things he cannot hear, but the words soothe him. Lips press against his cheek.

First he cannot move his arms or legs, and then his heart beats fast and he hears the name “John” leave his mouth in a soft whisper as he leans his head on John Childermass’ chest.

He is being pulled apart and put back together but something is different. Someone is crying.

The pillow shifts under him as he lays his head down, Childermass is shaking his head and saying “no” over and over again. _Why is he crying?_

A bright sun makes the yellowing trees look golden while the red and orange turns into a fire. All of this pales next to John Childermass. His eyes are closed as he lets the last rays of the sunset warm his face. John Segundus takes in every detail of his face. He finds himself wondering how he can count the lines on John Childermass’ face in this dream when he never knew how many there are in his waking life. Childermass opens his eyes and the sun reflected in them makes Segundus heart race.

_“So the question is: Mr Segundus, what ignites your passion?”_

His teeth are sharp and hungry as he bites into Childermass’ neck. Should blood taste this sweet?

It must be faerie, because there are people with animal’s heads and feet and tails and the man in the center of the room plunges his hand into Segundus’ chest which feels odd when he is not even there. Something is taken out and something is put in its place. It hurts.

Childermass’ hands are on his hands. They are in the library and John Segundus smiles because he knows this is a memory and not a dream. He is both watching from the outside and feeling everything as it happened, years ago. He knows he will soon fall in love.

The taste of blood lingers, thick and warm and wrong. He wants to spit it out but his body swallows it and wants more.

_“_ _ Why must I help him?” _

_“_ _ Because I will die if he is no longer in this world.” _

He is with Childermass on the moors and in the Starecross gardens and by the lake and he is with Childermass in both their bedrooms and in the library and there is so much of him and he is sure he used to dream about other things.

He wakes up and sees Jonathan Strange sitting in his chair, by his desk. He is sleeping and the fire is nearly out. His arms are tied to the bed again and he wishes they were not tied to the bed so he could cover Mr Strange with a blanket and stoke the fire.

He closes his eyes and sees a pair of dark eyes looking at him. He does not recognize them but he knows them.

“Mr Strange!” he cries, and he is not sure if he is still dreaming, but it feels as though he is the one speaking and perhaps he is awake. There is a strange feeling in his chest.


End file.
